


Withered Petals of my Beastly Love

by Kuzuriolu



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Beauty and the Beast Elements, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Character, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, mentions of ferdibert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22961821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuzuriolu/pseuds/Kuzuriolu
Summary: A jealous man's curse transforms Dorothea into a hideous beast, doomed to never be loved. Alone in the Adrestian woods with the remains of her opera company, the monstrous woman dreams of the day her soulmate comes to turn her human once more.Meanwhile, Princess Petra of Brigid seeks to free herself and her country of prime minster and current ruler of the Empire Duke von Aegir's corrupt grasp.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 120





	1. Rose's Curse

**Author's Note:**

> The setting for this fanfiction is a bit different from canon Fódlan, keep that in mind. The whole thing is inspired by Beauty and the Beast, but there's a bunch of obvious differences.

A Saturday night at the Mittelfrank Opera Company was always destined to be bustling. Nobles from all over Fódlan would come to see the fantastical operas the very talented troupe would put on. Extravagant tales full of vigorous songs and stunning performances kept audiences entertained for hours, and many would come back to see the performance a second time, perhaps even a third. On the night of the twenty-second day of the Garland Moon, the Mittelfrank Opera had just completed their final performance of _The Princess of Faerghus,_ a highly popular tale littered with plenty of musical numbers. After the opera had come to a close, adoring fans all flooded backstage to converse with their favorite performers and offer them gifts. 

But no one was more popular than the star: Dorothea Arnault.

Dorothea played the titular princess, and had done an astounding job of it. Every song she sang was pitch-perfect, every aria heartbreaking and moving. The eighteen-year-old songstress looked simply radiant in her gorgeous, sapphire-studded blue dress, glimmering in the stagelight. All eyes in the audience were solely upon her as she recited each soliloquy with perfection, driving a whole room to tears. That was why it was no surprise when she was stormed by hundreds of male nobles shoving expensive gifts in her arms before declaring their undying love for her. 

Such was a typical night for Dorothea.

The Mythical Songstress of the Mittelfrank Opera Company had drawn plenty of suitors towards her, many filthy rich. They knew not that she had previously been a starving, dirty orphan begging in the alleyways of Enbarr for a scrap of food, that she hadn’t always been the perfect beauty they saw her as. They didn’t even care. To the men who professed their love nightly, Dorothea was only a spectacle: something beautiful to be admired. It was apparent whenever she deigned to take one of her suitors out on a date that they only desired her for what she appeared to be, not who she was. 

“Dorothea! I’m madly in love with you!”

“Dorothea, marry me!”

“Dorothea, please accept my gift!”

...Such were some of the shouts the songstress overheard from the crowd of people who desperately fought against each other to stand in front of her. Some rowdy nobles had even started to brawl over her affections, an action that required the various guards to intervene immediately. At such a sight, the songstress could only sigh. None of these men actually loved her, they only thought they did.

“Dorothea, dear!” a voice called out from the crowd. The sea of people parted to make way for Manuela Casagranda, the former star of the Mittelfrank Opera Company known as the Divine Songstress. She wore a rather revealing green dress with a fluffy white jacket. Tonight it seemed she was not alone, for a handsome man followed alongside her. She enthusiastically hurried to the front of the commotion, a proud grin upon her face. 

“Manuela!” shouted Dorothea, eyes lighting up. “You really came!”

Manuela was both Dorothea’s teacher and idol. When the younger songstress was nothing more than a starving urchin, she had taken her under her wing and brought her to the Mittelfrank Opera Company. It was all thanks to Manuela’s kindness that she had grown into the woman she was now; without it, she surely would have died of starvation years ago, left to be forgotten as just another casualty of the classist Fódlan system. Dorothea harbored immense respect for the woman, and it had broken her heart when she had left the company to serve as a physician for the Imperial army. Though the woman had managed to gain a rather ill reputation amongst some as a heavy drinker and a complete and utter mess, Dorothea had never let those words get to her. No matter what others thought of Manuela, she was still her savior.

“Of course I came, dear. How could I miss your biggest performance yet?” Manuela spoke with a smile. “It was simply lovely. You looked like a goddess upon the stage! I was completely mesmerized. So was Vincent here.” She nudged the man beside her, who was clad in a splendid suit only befitting of nobility. “He’s my new boyfriend. Say hello!”

“Indeed, I was blown away by your performance!” agreed this so-called Vincent with a wide grin spreading across his angular face. “I’d love to speak with you more about it sometime, if you don’t mind, Dorothea. I’ve been an admirer of the Mittelfrank Opera Company for quite awhile now.” 

The way the man’s golden eyes peered into her made the younger songstress feel a bit uneasy, though she didn’t allow any signs of doubt to show on her face. “Of course! We’re about to close for visitors now, so maybe we can find some time tomorrow if you’re still around,” she suggested, hoping that he was not.

“Actually, I’ve made arrangements to stay here overnight, in my old room,” Manuela told Dorothea. “I was going to help with some of the clean-up… and the post-show drinks, of course.”

Typical Manuela, Dorothea thought to herself with a light smile. “We’ll have plenty of time to catch up, then. It’s been so long, Manuela, and I have so much to tell you…”

“Well, we’ll save that all for later, all right? It was good speaking with you, kid,” Manuela spoke. “If you show up to the cast party, maybe I’ll share a few drinks with you.”

The younger songstress laughed off the suggestion. “Thank you for the offer, but I think I’ll skip out on drinking. I might stop by if I’m not too tired, but I’ll definitely see you in the morning!” _And likely take care of her inevitable hangover_ , Dorothea thought to herself.

“See you soon then, Dorothea!” 

After Manuela and her new boyfriend vanished into the crowd, Dorothea continued to spurn the affections of the men who showered her with gifts. After midnight had fallen and the guests had been escorted out by very capable guards, the girl collapsed into the chair in front of her vanity and sighed. She undid the gown that had grown far too heavy upon her and quickly slipped into a comfortable white dress, adorning herself with her signature black cap. Her arms were sore from carrying gifts back into her room, and she was tuckered out from performing all day. Outside, the chattering from excited cast members was beginning to grow. She could make out the sound of wine bottles being popped open, followed by laughter. She never had a taste for alcohol, but spending a bit of time amongst her friends couldn’t hurt, no matter how exhausted she was.

As she was pondering whether or not it was worth it to join the festivities, a knock upon the door interrupted her. Thinking that it was a fellow member of the opera troupe coming to retrieve her, she stood and opened the door without bothering to ask who was on the other side. However, the face that met her was not someone she recognized. It was an unfamiliar man dressed in rather plain and cheap attire. He had pitch black hair and deep blue eyes that sparkled with youth, and stood only a bit taller than Dorothea herself. He lacked any wrinkles upon his face, but bore a small, curvy cut underneath his right eye. In his hand, he had a single rose.

“Dorothea Arnault! I’ve been a fan of yours for so many years!” he gushed. “I haven’t gotten to meet you because there’s always been richer and more handsome men that steal your attention, but now, I’ve finally gotten the chance!”

Dorothea blinked in confusion. “Erm… It’s a pleasure to meet you and all, but we’re closed for visitors right now. Only members of the company are allowed in here past midnight.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about that! We’re finally together now, just you and me.” His deep eyes glittered with awe as he stepped his way into her room, slipping past the songstress and closing the door on his way. “Unfortunately, I hardly have any money, so I couldn’t get you an expensive gift. So I brought you this instead. I hope it’s enough to show you how much I love you!” The man thrust his hand out, showing the single, brilliant red rose to the woman. 

“That’s… flattering and all, but… you really can’t be in my room…” Dorothea protested, stepping back from the man. “Please. You have to leave.”

The man frowned, though he still held the rose out to her. “I came all this way to ask you out on a date. Am I not good enough for you?”

“No, that’s not—look, I’m not accepting any more gifts right now, all right? I’ll have to call the guards if you won’t leave,” Dorothea told him sternly, beginning to get more than just a little annoyed and quite a bit creeped out. She had plenty of overbearing people in the past try to force their way into her room, but none had successfully gotten by the guards this late before. 

The man’s hand fell to his side. “That’s it, isn’t it? I’m not a rich enough man for you? Not handsome enough? Is that what you’ve been searching for all this time?” he questioned, his crestfallen expression growing more and more angered. His eyebrows furrowed as his crooked teeth clenched together. 

A bead of sweat trickled down Dorothea’s forehead as she glanced towards the closed door. She had been through her fair share of murder attempts and kidnappings already, to the point where she was well experienced on how to ward off attackers. She backed up against her vanity, fingers slipping behind her to grasp for a dagger she kept upon it. “No, that’s not it at all. You don’t understand—you can’t understand. I’m warning you: leave my room. Now.”

“Oh, on the contrary, I think I understand perfectly well,” the man replied, his enraged look morphing into a sickening grin. Malice swarmed around in his dark blue eyes as he stepped forward, fingers still grasping the rose. “Young Dorothea Arnault. A poor orphan, abandoned by her father and left to die upon the streets of Enbarr. Through a stroke of luck, you ended up the most desired woman in all of Fódlan. Now, what you fear the most is the day that fame will vanish, leaving you all alone again upon the streets, without a single coin.”

“How…. how do you know that?” whispered Dorothea, green eyes widening. 

“Oh, I know many things. I know that you’ve been dating plenty of rich noblemen, but you’ve never asked for a second date. Why is that? Isn’t a secure future what you desire the most? To be married to a rich man, to never have to worry about gold ever again? Are the men who confess to you hourly not enough for you?” he questioned, gazing into her eyes as though he was were reading her very soul like an open book. “What do you _really_ want, Dorothea Arnault?”

“I…” she breathed, unsure how to answer. Panic began to flood her as she lost herself to a whirlwind of thought. Plenty of men had come to her, offering her their everything, but she had rejected them, for she knew they did not truly love her. What she truly wanted was… was…

“I think…” intoned the man as he grew ever closer, “...someone has to teach you a lesson.”

With a snap of his fingers, dark tendrils of magic suddenly formed in midair and shot towards Dorothea. They wrapped around her legs and arms like chains, constricting her completely. The songstress attempted to struggle, but found she could not move even a muscle. True, genuine fear flooded her mind as she realized she was completely helpless. Seeing the panic in her eyes, the man simply cackled.

“I haven’t tried this curse before, but I think it’ll be a fun one.” His wild cackling quieted into a more sinister chuckle. A vortex of dark purple magic formed from his outstretched hand, spiraling like a hurricane. As it grew ever larger, the entire floor began to shake, followed by the entire opera house itself. Dorothea could only watch as horror as the spiraling storm of magic grew stronger and stronger, her mind frantically trying to deduce what was going to happen to her. Cries of confusion sounded out from backstage, where Dorothea could only assume the same was happening. 

“Please,” she choked out. “If you’re going to kill me, just make it quick! And don’t hurt the others. They’ve got nothing to do with this...”

“Kill you? Certainly not!” laughed the man. “Now then. The curse is almost ready. I just need the final piece…” He smirked as he looked down at the fully-bloomed rose between his fingers. He held it high into the air, whispering words in an ancient language, before sending it shooting into the spiral. Black magic flowed into its petals, which drunk it up eagerly. As all the magic was swallowed by the flower, the shaking stopped. All fell quiet.

Then, it burst. 

Like a raging storm, catastrophic magic flung out in all directions from the flower. The opera house shook as though it were being blown away by a heavy gale. A lighting bolt of magic raced its way towards Dorothea and struck her directly in the chest, forcing a scream out of her. Magical tendrils like vines exploded from the bolt and wrapped around her, digging thorn-like protrusions into her flesh. Her whole body began to writhe with agony as she fell helplessly to the floor. 

Dorothea felt her bones shatter and break as though they were made of glass. She heard their sickening sounds as searing pain ripped through her skull like fire. Her hands, now free to move, frantically gripped at the top of her head as she screeched in agony. Her hands grew larger, stronger, _hairier_ , beginning to hurt as gigantic claws jutted out from the tips of her fingers. Her jaw cracked painfully as it began to change and reform itself, causing a ragged cry to tear from her throat . She moved her enormous claws away from her head as horns poked through her skull, feeding onto the already splitting headache. The seams on her dress strained as her body grew, gaining new height and a thick layer of fur. All the while, the songstress was screaming, _begging_ for the torture to end. Her eyes jolted shut as her mind lost itself to the pain, as her entire being changed into something new. 

Then, after what felt like hours of agony, it vanished all at once. The floor beneath her stopped shaking, and all was dead silent. Dorothea peeked an eye open, finding her world still dizzy and hazy. The mysterious man was still there, gazing at her with a smile full of malevolent delight. 

“Oh, _perfect_ ,” he whispered as he marveled at the girl before him. “What an astounding success!”

Dazed, Dorothea attempted to stand. Though pulsing remains of pain still ebbed through her sore bones, she managed to pull herself to her feet. To her shock, the man was now much shorter than her, around a good foot or so. Bewildered, the songstress looked down to the ground to see that her shoes had burst, revealing fur-coated toes with long, pointy nails sticking out. She shrieked in panic as she held her hands out, finding that they too were much the same. She stumbled to her vanity and leaned down to look in the mirror, letting out a cry of shock when she saw what was reflected within. 

Brown locks of hair tumbled down from the top of her head, which also now bore a pair of black ram-like horns that curved downwards to the sides of her face, where her ears had grown pointy and furred, though her earrings still remained intact. Her entire face was covered in fur, and now looked much like a wolf’s. Her eyes were still the same, though she had grown a short snout, and as she tentatively opened her mouth, a set of razor-sharp fangs revealed themselves. Scanning downwards, she noticed that her entire body was coated from head to toe in soft auburn fur. A mane of darker, fluffier, more unkempt fur rested from her neck to her shoulders and seemed to curve down her spine. The seams of her dress were barely holding together upon her taller, larger form. A big tail was uncomfortably pressed up against the confines of her dress, begging to be let free. Drinking in her new appearance, Dorothea’s eyes spilled over with tears. 

She was _hideous_.

“What do you think?” laughed the man. “Look at you now, beast. You’re an unlovable monster. What will all your little suitors say when they see you like this?"

“N...no… This can’t be!” she whimpered, voice gruff and slightly lower than before. “Please! Change me back! I can’t look like this…! I’m hideous!”

“My deepest apologies,” he sneered, “but the curse has already been cast. There’s no way for me to undo it. You’ll have to spend the rest of your life as a lonely beast, unless you can break my little spell.” 

Dorothea’s ears perked up. “T...There’s a way to break it?” she asked, voice trembling. 

“Oh yes, but it won’t be a simple task. No, in fact, nearly impossible.” The mage chuckled lightly to himself as he raised up the red rose, which now glittered with magic. “This rose… is you. When the final petal falls from its stem, you too will die. However, if you can somehow manage to find true love, the curse will break, and you will become human once more. Do you understand?”

“But… but that’s impossible!” Dorothea protested. “How could anyone fall in love with me when I look like _this_?” The only reason she'd had any suitors at all was due to her looks and voice. With them taken from her, her chances of winning their love were hopeless! She couldn’t go on as she was when she looked like a monster! 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, beast. No man shall ever fall in love with you,” he told her with a sadistic, yellow-toothed grin. “That is a promise. But I’m certain you can find a way to make it work. Now then, you better keep this rose safe. Wouldn’t want to shave any petals off by accident.”

Before Dorothea could continue on with her revolts, the man pushed the rose into one of her hands. The beastly woman unfurled her fist and let it rest on top of her palm, scared her new, bigger hands would crush it. She stared at its delicate petals, so bright and beautiful, and at its stem, laced with prickly roses. _This rose… is me_. She placed it gingerly upon her vanity. She would have to find a proper way to store it, away from anyone’s touch.

“I think you’ll find that you’re not the only thing that’s changed about this opera house. But why would I spoil the fun?” taunted the mysterious man. 

Dorothea’s head jolted up. “You… you didn’t hurt the others, did you?” she asked, worry lacing her voice.

To that, he laughed sickeningly. “Don’t worry. They’re all alive. But I think you’ll find them all… compromised.” 

“Compromised!?” she shouted in alarm. “No… no…!”

The beast dashed past the mage and flung her door open harder than intended, nearly breaking it completely with her new strength. She sprinted through the empty hallways at top speed, searching for any signs of life. It was eerily quiet, with no sounds of the bustling party nor the outside world. Dorothea frantically pried open doors, sometimes right off the hinges, in an attempt to find her fellow opera troupe members. What could have happened to them? They didn’t deserve to be mixed up in all of this! This was all her fault! 

Buried her face in her hands, collapsed in a pit of seething hatred. Hatred for her attacker, yes, but all loathing Dorothea had held in her heart was almost always reserved for herself, now more so than ever. She was a big, hideous monster that had brought ruin to the friends she had grown to consider her family…. Even Manuela, who had been the one to take her hand when she needed it the most! She was prepared to give up, to return to her room and hide in her own sorrows and self-loathing, when she heard a faint voice.

“Help!”

Dorothea’s ears twitched and she jolted upwards, glancing around. “Hello!?” she called out.

“Someone, please help!”

It was coming from one of the dressing rooms. She hurried down the hallway, listening as the cries grew ever closer. When she determined which room it came from, she ripped the door off of the wall and charged right in. The whole room was a mess from all the shaking, with mannequins toppled over and make-up tins thrown about. Dorothea dropped to her knees and began to dig through the mess of dresses, trying to find the source of the voice underneath. What she found was not a person, but a hairbrush, crying out for help. Confused, she flipped it over, only to find a pair of eyes staring right at her.

She screamed. The hairbrush screamed as well.

“Oh Goddess! It’s a monster!” it shouted. “Unhand me, you beast! Help, someone, help!”

Dorothea recognized the voice, the eyes. “Eva?” she gasped. “Is… is that _you_?”

Eva was an older lady who was an expert when it came to make-up, and styled the cast members prior to going on stage. She had two sons who often stopped by to watch the performances, and sometimes helped out with some backstage cleanup. 

“How do you know my name, beast? Let go of me! I’ll call the guards!” she threatened.

“Stop! Please! It’s Dorothea!” she insisted. “What happened—no, wait. Where’s everyone else?”

The hairbrush stopped screaming, instead looking up at Dorothea in confusion. “Dorothea!?” she repeated. Her eyes gazed up and down. “Oh Goddess, it really is you. Oh sweet Dorothea, what have they done to you!? You look—…” She stopped in her tracks upon realizing the next words were unkind. 

“Disgusting? Hideous? I know,” Dorothea finished. “There was this man, and he… he cursed me to look like this. He told me that he had done something to the rest of you too, but…” She looked down at the talking hairbrush, perplexed. “Are the rest of you like this, too?”

“I don’t know, dear! I’ve been trapped under all these dresses,” Eva told her. She didn’t exactly have any arms to pry herself free of the fabric prison. “There was all this shaking, and suddenly there was this zap of magic, and everything went dark! When I woke up, I was like this. Oh, Dorothea, do you think everyone else has been transformed too?” 

“I… I don’t know,” the beast whispered, fear in her voice. “I… I have to find the others. I…”

Without thinking, she set Eva the hairbrush down upon a vanity. She ignored the woman’s protest as she stepped out of the room, every ounce of her full to the brim with worry. Prior to the curse, everyone had been partying backstage. That would be the next place to check, wouldn’t it? She kicked off her broken shoes and continued her journey through the large opera house, bound for the main stage.

Everything was eerily silent as she stalked closer to her destinations. There were still plenty of props that had yet to be put away, clattered to the ground and creating a terrible mess. She carefully stepped over fallen swords and lances toward the red curtain, still pulled open from the performance not hours before. The stage had been set for the after party, with a gigantic table covered in bottles of alcohol and half-eaten cakes that had been toppled over. Tentatively, Dorothea set foot upon the stage, looking for any signs of life…

“Got you, monster!”

Without any more warning, a box of daggers toppled off of the catwalk, sending what must have been over fifty blades raining down upon her. Dorothea let out a shrill cry of terror and stumbled backwards, tripping awkwardly over her own feet. She fell upon her back and was immediately assaulted by a storm of walking props, varying from fake weapons to teacups to dolls. They climbed atop her and began to ram against her furry body with whatever strength they had, which wasn’t exactly much. An armored teddy bear climbed up on her face and smacked her with their stuffed paw, screaming all the while.

“You’re the one that did this, beast! Change us back!” accused the teddy bear. “I’ll have you know the weapons we have here are _very_ much real, and if I had hands… well, you’d be dead! We at the Mittelfrank Opera Company are not to be taken lightly!”

“W...Wait!” coughed Dorothea, overwhelmed by the sudden attack. “You’ve got the wrong person! I’m not a monster, I’m Dorothea!”

“Dorothea?” the teddy bear repeated. Its stitched-on eyebrows furrowed. “How could you possibly be Dorothea? Dorothea is a fine young woman, not some ugly beast!”

The remark stung deeply, but the songstress figured she would have to start getting used to such comments. “I promise, it’s me. I didn’t cast this spell, but I know what happened.”

“A likely story,” the teddy challenged, placing his stuffed hands upon his hips. “You must be a warlock who heard about how successful my opera company was, and sought to destroy it! Isn’t that the truth!?”

“Wait!” a high-pitched voice piped up, belonging to a teacup. “I don’t think she’s lying. Look, those are Dorothea’s eyes, her hair, her earrings, her voice…!” 

Chatter broke out amongst the various objects, and the teddy bear groaned. “All right, all right! Fine. Get off of her. But you better have a good explanation for all this.”

The group of possessed objects hopped off of Dorothea, and she sat up. She looked upon the sea of familiar faces that now belonged to simple props, and inside, guilt began to well up. She may have not been the one to cast the spell, yet she was still responsible for it. “There… there was a man. He came into my room, and he offered me a rose. Of course, I refused since we’re closed and aren’t supposed to have visitors, but… but he got angry at me. He… turned me into this… to ‘teach me a lesson.’ I don’t know what happened, I—” She began to choke up as tears spilt over, her voice growing shaky. “—I… He said there was a way to break the curse, but… but…” 

“But what? Spit it out, girl!” the teddy bear ordered. 

“I… I…” choked Dorothea. Unable to hold back her sobs any longer, she broke out into full on tears once more. She cried pitifully before everyone, despair filling every inch of her being. There was no way anyone was ever going to fall in love with her when she looked like a beast! She was doomed to be like this for the rest of her life, until the rose withered and she too died with it. Though Teddy was clearly growing impatient with her, everyone else seemed to look sympathetic. They allowed her to simply sit there and let go of all the anxieties she had been holding onto for the last twenty minutes. 

It wasn’t until someone stumbled out from across the stage that she stopped crying.

“What’s going on? Did we find who did this? Oh—”

It was a porcelain doll, dressed in a handcrafted, emerald-colored dress stitched out of the finest material. The kind of doll that the young, dirt-poor Dorothea had only dared dream of in her wildest fantasies, in the daydreams she concocted in which she became a princess. Familiar brown eyes stared at the beast across from her, immediately widening with recognition. 

“Dorothea?” Manuela’s voice called to her gently. “Is… is that you?”

Dorothea nodded weakly, ashamed. “I’m sorry, Manuela, this is all my fault. I…” She tried to find some sort of way to explain herself, but what was she supposed to do? She had only acted as she should have in that situation. There were just no right answers. 

Manuela approached Dorothea, stepping in the way of the irritated teddy bear. She placed a tiny, cold hand upon auburn fur that coated Dorothea’s arm, and stroked it lightly. “It’s all right, dear. You don’t have to explain yourself. I… I can’t believe what they’ve done to you. When I find out just who did this to you, I’m going to show him a piece of my mind! We’ll get this sorted out right away, all right? We’ll be back to normal in no time!” 

Though there was little weight to her teacher’s words, little comfort to be offered, Dorothea still felt something within them. Manuela was such a strong woman, having been through more ordeals than Dorothea could ever list. All she could do was believe in her mentor, allow herself to be soothed by the gesture of kindness. 

The teddy bear, however, huffed. “Dorothea _was_ telling us about how to break the curse before you waltzed in. Go on now, Dorothea. Tell us.”

“Come now, Director! Be a little more sensitive. Dorothea is just a teenage girl,” Manuela argued. 

The director of the Mittelfrank Opera Company, who had apparently been changed into the stuffed teddy bear, was having none of it. “Dorothea is an adult now! Clearly, she got us into this mess, so she better get us out!”

“He’s… right, Manuela,” sighed Dorothea. “It’s really all my fault, and… well. I guess I’m the key out as well.”

And so, Dorothea began to explain. She told them about the cursed rose, about the withering petals, and about how she was to die when there was nothing left but thorns. She told them about how the only way out of the curse was love, how someone had to fall truly and deeply in love with her, and how she had to love them just as deeply back. When she finished with her explanation, the entire cast was silent for a few moments. She wasn't surprised — she, herself, was convinced that this was a nearly impossible task. Her beautiful looks had been what drew so many people in, and now they were gone, replaced by the form of a beast. No one dared comment, until suddenly…

“Ha! So we’re going to die then,” laughed a masculine voice belonging to a painted vase.

“Vincent!” Manuela shouted. “Dorothea is a gorgeous young lady, and—”

“Gorgeous!? Maybe she used to be, but not anymore! Look at her! She’s horrific!” retorted the man who Manuela had brought as a date. “I came here tonight with you so that I could finally meet the famed Dorothea Arnault in person, so that I could finally have a chance of being with her…! But now, I wouldn’t even dare _think_ of marrying her, let alone going on a single date with her! I can’t believe I got caught up in all this, just because I had the bright idea to come here with some old, hysterical woman. I’ll not stay here a moment longer! I’ll find someone to break this curse for me!”

Manuela’s porcelain mouth hung open in shock, but before she could retaliate, the possessed vase toppled to his side and began to roll away as fast as he possibly could. 

“Wait!” the director shouted. “Someone stop him! We can’t let anyone find out about this!”

“Won’t someone come in eventually, anyways?!” argued another voice from the crowd.

“It doesn’t matter! Dorothea, to your feet! Catch that man!” the teddy bear ordered.

Dorothea hesitated, but then hopped straight up. If news spread throughout, then all of Fódlan would know what she had become! Without thinking much more, she scooped up the doll Manuela in her arms and hopped off of the stage. She sprinted through rows of seats, ignoring shouts of confusion from her teacher. She pushed open the grand doors and made her way to the grand entrance hall, decorated extravagantly for the final production. Her eyes scanned for any sight of the escaped face, but found the hall completely empty. The candlelights above had gone out, leaving only the moonlight filtered through the stained glass windows to brighten the dark entrance. The entire room was oddly quiet, with not even a peep coming from outside the opera house. Even though it was well past midnight, it was still a Saturday night in Enbarr, and the streets were often lined with drunken noblemen hollering with laughter and partying until the sun went up. It was unnerving, to say the very least.

“Something’s not right,” Dorothea whispered to Manuela.

“Lots of things aren’t right at the moment, dear,” Manuela pointed out. “Now, where is that Vincent? I’ll kick his little glass face right in for having the audacity to not only insult me, but you as well! The nerve of some men! I’m going to need a strong drink after this…”

Ignoring Manuela’s usual rambles, the beast approached the entrance and leaned against the door, pressing an ear right up against it. Her newly increased sense of hearing picked up on the gentle tune of crickets chirping alongside a breezy gust. Slowly, hesitantly, she pushed her hand against the door, creaking it open to reveal a decidedly different sight than what she’d been expecting.

Before her stood not the bustling streets of Enbarr, plagued with noblemen who had far more money than they knew what to do with and flocks of homeless orphans hiding beneath makeshift beds crafted from dirty rags. Instead, Dorothea found herself face to face with a bountiful forest, with evergreen trees seemingly scraping the night’s sky as far as the eye could see. The gentle calls of woodland creatures filled the fresh air, and the slight summer breeze brushed Dorothea’s fur. Her jaw hung open as she took in the world around her, adding to the dozens of questions that plagued her.

“Oh… Oh dear,” Manuela spoke. “This certainly isn’t Enbarr.”

“No,” Dorothea whispered. “No. It’s not.”

* * *

As the morning rose upon the city of Enbarr, an unpleasant ray of light peaked through a partial opening in bright red curtains, shining directly upon the sleeping form of Petra Macneary. The fifteen-year-old girl rubbed her tired eyes as she shifted away from the window, wishing for more sleep. Last night had been long for her. Ferdinand von Aegir had convinced his father to allow him to take her to the Mittelfrank Opera Company, where they had seen the final production of _The Princess of Faerghus_ . Petra had watched eagerly with stunned eyes as she was captivated by the extravagant performance before her, _especially_ the beautiful girl who had been the star of the show. Never before had she seen a woman so stunning. 

If only she could remember what the name of that girl was.

She yawned and stretched, knowing she would have to be up before the clock struck ten. The Empire insisted on integrating her in the Imperial Army’s training regimens, and though the princess so loathed the nation that had killed her father and stolen her away as a hostage, she took full advantage of the opportunity to strengthen herself. That way, one day, when she was crowned Queen of Brigid, she could free her homeland from the grasp of the Empire and from Duke von Aegir’s malicious hands.

How she hated the man who now ruled the empire. He had grand ambitions, and would stop at nothing to see them achieved. The emperor himself was but a puppet on his strings, unable to do anything about the atrocities Petra had faced since becoming a captive. The Adrestian Empire was truly corrupt.

A knock on the door sounded moments after Petra had pulled on her uniform. Gladly, she opened it.

“Ferdinand!” she greeted. “Good morning. Are you well today?”

“Good morning to you, Petra! I am doing just fine, thank you,” answered the orange-haired young noble with a striking grin befitting of his title of future prime minister. “I will be plenty busy today, but my father sent me to make sure you were awake. We were out late last night, after all!”

“Indeed, we were,” Petra replied. Her smile suddenly turned sour as her eyebrows furrowed, feeling a strange headache jolt through her. Her mind was searching through memories from last night, but it was as though she was unable to grab at them. They felt distant, hazy, almost as though they had faded. “Erm… Ferdinand, are you remembering where it was we were going to last night?”

Ferdinand’s face also felt as an equally confused expression overtook him. “Um… That is…” He scratched his head. “How odd, I cannot seem to recall…. Something to do with an opera but… no, that cannot be right. There is no opera company here in Enbarr.”

He was right, of course. There was no opera in Enbarr. Although, an opera... it felt strangely familiar, but at the same time… “This is having much strangeness. Usually, I am remembering such things, but...” She shook her head. “Maybe it is because I have tiredness still? I am thinking that I will be remembering soon.”

The prime minister’s son nodded in agreement. “Yes, well… Let us hope that is the case. In any case, Petra, be certain not to be late for training! I shall see you shortly.”

“Yes, I will be seeing you too!”

With that, Petra bid farewell to Ferdinand and closed the door. Still, her lips remained in a frown as she shifted through memories, trying with all her might to remember exactly what had happened. For a moment when she had woken up, it was like… it was like she knew exactly what she’d been doing last night, but now… 

How odd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!
> 
> I have about three other chapters of this fanfiction already written, but they've gotta undergo some editing. I'm not sure what my posting schedule for this will be like. It's only about 3/5ths of the way finished, after all, and I'll continue to write more while people are waiting for new chapters. I've worked REALLY hard on this fanfiction since about a month ago, so I hope you'll all enjoy. 
> 
> Dorothea's beast form is based upon the wolf beasts in Three Houses. [Click here for a reference.](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EQSuBy0UEAUM49B?format=jpg&name=large) There's a few differences (like the horns) but otherwise, feel free to picture her as such, just... anthropomorphic. 
> 
> So, what is there to say about this fanfiction? I have an absolute weakness for beast girls, ESPECIALLY beast girls who fall madly in love with beautiful women who think they're beautiful, so I had to use this in a fanfiction. I also think Doropetra fits a Fairytale AU so well, because let's face it, they're basically already a fairytale romance in canon. I wanted to combine these two things, and I came up with this. 
> 
> Like I said before, I've worked super hard on this fanfiction for the last month or so. This chapter was beta'd by several people, so I hope that I've squashed out most of the typos. I would REALLY, really appreciate it if you could leave a comment, or even just a kudo! It goes a huge way in helping me out. I'd also like to remind you guys once again of [Doropetra week](https://twitter.com/doropetraweek) which is happening in one month from now. I will be participating, and I hope everyone else will, too!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. I hope you liked it.
> 
> (also. the title is subject to change, lol)


	2. Tatters of Humanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is just dorothea but petra's pov will be most of the next chapter!
> 
> thank you for all your lovely comments thus far <3.

In the days following her transformation, Dorothea became swallowed in a pit of depression.

The beastly woman had holed herself up in her room, sealing the door tight. She refused to leave no matter how often her fellow opera troupe members pleaded, no matter how much  _ Manuela _ pleaded. A part of her hoped that this was all some twisted nightmare, and that she would soon awaken as a human again. Another part of her had convinced herself that perhaps the man’s spell hadn’t worked as he had hoped, and that it would fade away in the coming days. But each day she woke up still covered in fur, met with the reflection of a monster in her mirror. 

She stopped taking care of herself all together. The locks of brown hair she spent so much time each day combing turned into twisted knots. She didn’t even bother changing the uncomfortable, ill-fitting dress that she had been wearing the night of her transformation. Her stomach was growling at her, begging for some sort of sustenance, but she refused it all together. She only occasionally took sips from her lukewarm water canister, just to keep herself from dying of dehydration. Upon occasion, she thought of using the dagger upon her vanity to take her own life, to cut off the petals upon the rose and free herself from her cursed existence. 

But she couldn’t do that to the others. Their very lives were connected to her own now, and selfishly killing herself would likely mean killing them as well. Unlike her, they had families that surely missed them, surely wondering what happened to the Mittelfrank Opera Company. Dorothea dared wonder if anyone in Enbarr missed her. Before the curse changed her, she’d had thousands of adoring fans, after all. Surely they would have noticed her disappearance… right? 

The beast huddled in a corner of her room, tears staining her fur. She was absolutely starving, but didn’t even know what she was supposed to be eating. She hugged her legs to her chest, buried her snout in between her knees. If she were a religious woman, she would pray to the Goddess for salvation, but Dorothea had lost her belief in the Goddess long ago.. If there truly was a Goddess, then she would have never allowed the young orphan to suffer like she did. After all those years of being shunned by the Goddess, she doubted the noble being would choose to change her mind and take pity upon her now. All she could do was wallow in her own despair and drown in tears. 

Her sensitive ears twitched upon hearing a tap at the door. No one besides her had proper hands, making knocking rather difficult. 

“Dorothea, dear. It’s me. Please, open the door,” Manuela’s voice called to her.

Dorothea didn’t budge. It was her fault that Manuela had been transformed into a doll and became trapped within the confines of the opera house, and now ran the very real risk of dying. She had stolen the future away from the woman who had once given her hope when she needed it the most. How could she face her like this?

“Dorothea. Please. It’s been days, dear. You must be starving,” pleaded her mentor. “We have plenty of leftovers from the party. None of us can eat it, you know.” A bitter laugh sounded out from the other side of the door. “I can’t even drink anymore. Took a whole curse to get me away from alcohol, huh.”

What Manuela probably meant as a joke just made Dorothea feel even worse about the situation. She remained silent.

“Just listen for a moment,” Manuela spoke out, tone changing to become much more serious. “I know how you’re feeling, dear, but hiding isn’t going to help. Just sitting here and waiting for the curse to vanish clearly isn’t going to work. I don’t know how long we’ve got, but if you want to make everything right again, we need to get to work as soon as possible. I want to help you, Dorothea, but I can’t when you won’t let me. Please, let me see you. I want to see you.”

Dorothea considered her words for a moment before responding. “I don’t want you to look at me,” she answered back. “I’m hideous, Manuela. I don’t want anyone to see me like this!”

“You’re not hideous, Dorothea, I promise. With a little bit of work, we can make you into a stunning beauty! I’m sure men won’t be able to resist you,” insisted the doll.

“But how are we even going to find anyone?! We’re in the middle of a forest, Manuela! No one’s come looking for us!” the beast pointed out. “What if no one  _ ever _ comes?!”

“We can worry about all that later. In fact, we’ve made a few discoveries I’d love to talk to you about, but I can’t until you open that door. Please, Dorothea.”

Dorothea pulled her face away from her knees and looked at the door, which she had barricaded shut with her chair. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Manuela was right. In order to break the curse, she needed to find true love, and she certainly wouldn’t in the state she was in right now, with her hair frizzled and clothing torn to shreds. She wearily glanced at the rose upon the vanity, which was still fully intact. She still had plenty of time. Shakily, she stood upon her legs and walked over to the door, kicking the chair out of the way with her foot. Slowly, she opened the door and peeked out.

Manuela stepped back from the door and looked up, an expression of shock plastered on her face as she met Dorothea’s eyes. “...Oh, Dorothea, you look awful!” she exclaimed.

“I know, thanks,” Dorothea sighed. 

“That’s not what I meant, dear. You clearly haven’t been brushing your hair, and you still haven’t changed out of those old clothes? We must remedy this at once!” Manuela decided. “Come now! Let’s get to work!” Without even asking, the doll pushed her way past Dorothea’s legs and into her room. 

Dorothea’s room was still quite a mess. It wasn’t particularly large, but then again, it was a spare room she had been given when she was still just ten years old. Besides the bed and vanity, it was fitted with a closet and a few shelves where she stored gifts that had accumulated over the years. Manuela immediately flung the closet open to reveal an array of outfits, mainly dresses. 

“Now then, let’s see what we have here…” Manuela spoke to herself as she admired the contents of Dorothea’s closet. “With your color fur, I think almost anything would compliment you well, don’t you think?”

“I… I don’t think any of those will fit me anymore, Manuela,” lamented Dorothea as she scooped up a hairbrush from her vanity. Her teeth clenched together as she tentatively combed through locks of hair, meeting resistance from the various knots. 

Manuela glanced to Dorothea, to the dress that had nearly burst upon her transformation, and then to the dresses in the closet. “Hmm… I guess we’ll check the dressing room, then. We’ve never had a shortage of outfits here, and it’s not like anyone else can wear them. We’ll find something just right for you!” 

“Ah… alright. Let me just finish with my hair…”

It took quite a bit to untangle all the knots in her hair, but after a painful battle, she managed to undo them all. Her long hair flowed down her shoulders in beautiful waves, though Dorothea noted that it was in need of a good wash. She would have to take a proper bath later. The songstress scoured the floor and shuffled through fallen belongings, until she happened upon her trusty hat. She plopped it atop her head, finding that it still fit snuggly, despite the addition of horns. Luckily, they curved downward at just the right point to prevent them from interfering too much. Meekly, she glanced at her mirror. Her claws adjusted a few strands of hair that had fallen out of place and pushed them back behind her ears. All things considered, she looked fairly decent… well, her head did, at least. Her tattered white dress made her look like a feral mess, and still felt incredibly uncomfortable in this form. Her tail was still awkwardly shoved within the confines of the dress, restricting it completely. She hadn’t even gotten to look at it yet!

When all was said and done, Dorothea followed Manuela down the hall towards the grand dressing room. It was easily one of the biggest rooms in the entire opera house, filled to the brim with racks of outfits suited for all kinds of operas. The whole room was a labyrinth of costumes, and one could easily get lost amongst the sea of fabric if they were not careful. Unfortunately, plenty of mannequins and the like had been toppled over in the curse’s rumble, making it a bit hard to sift through the contents. Manuela, who now stood at only about a foot and a half tall, had a particularly difficult time looking at the still-hanging outfits, forcing Dorothea to pick her up so that she had an optimal view.

“Hm… no, that’s much too bright…” Manuela muttered to herself as she pushed a honey yellow dress aside. “But completely black is much too dreary, don’t you think?”

“I’d rather not look like I’m in mourning,” Dorothea agreed. 

“Let’s see… aha! What about this, Dorothea?”

Manuela awkwardly tugged on a long black and gold set of clothing with her flat hand and pointed thumb. Her four fingers were plastered together, forcing her to utilize the little wiggle room her thumb offered. Dorothea gently removed the outfit from the rack and held it out in front of her. It was primarily black with golden accents and consisted of a black undershirt, a black and golden buttoned up top that could be loosened to fit properly, and a long skirt. It wasn’t too bright nor too morose, and looked like it could be sizable enough to fit her new figure. 

“I like it,” she decided. “Let’s just see if it fits me.”

Dorothea retreated behind a curtain as she tore off her old, ill-fitting dress, sighing in relief as she freed herself from the constraints. She glanced at her form in the mirror, analyzing just how much it had changed. She was still curvaceous, though it was immediately clear that she was more muscular than before. Her arms and legs were slightly toned to accommodate her newfound strength, which was apparently enough to rip doors straight off of hinges as she had demonstrated earlier. She observed how her mane stretched in ruffled fur along her spine and stretched along the top of her long tail, which was plenty fluffy and soft. The longer she stared at the beast in the mirror, the more the swell of self-loathing in her heart grew. It was impossible for her not to hate what she saw.

Pushing aside doubt for the moment, the beast did her best to fit herself to her new adornments. The top proved not too difficult, though she had to leave quite a few buttons undone to properly fit her chest area. The skirt proved perfectly sized save for the trouble of having a tail, so she opted to let it awkwardly hang down and peek out of the end of her skirt. Dorothea turned every which way in front of the mirror, shaking her head in dissatisfaction. At least she looked a bit better than before. While the outfit certainly was beautiful, she couldn’t help but feel it was wasted on someone who looked the way she did now.

Dorothea drew the curtain back and stepped out. She awkwardly tugged upon her skirt as she cleared her throat, feeling anxieties bubble up within. It mattered not what she thought of her own appearance, but how receptive potential suitors would be to it. Even when she was a beautiful young woman, she always managed to spot the tiniest imperfections in the mirror: a blemish upon her cheek, a scar on her knuckle. Such minuscule details were of little importance in the eyes of lustful noblemen, who tended to focus more upon her gemstone-like eyes and… other assets, and she hadn’t lost either of those. 

“Well… it fits fine,” Dorothea told Manuela, who was gazing up upon her from the floor. “I think. I mean, at least I look a bit better than before, but… that’s not really saying much.”

“I think you look lovely, Dorothea,” her mentor assured her, a gentle smile fitting her porcelain features. “Turn around for me, will you?”

Dorothea did just that. As soon as she did, Manuela let out a dissatisfied hum. “We have to do something about your tail, kid. That doesn’t look comfortable at all.”

Self-consciously, the younger songstress flicked her tail back and forth. Having a completely new appendage was strange, and she hardly knew what to do with it. It was proving to be little more than a nuisance. “It’s not,” Dorothea answered. “But what else am I supposed to do? It’s not like they make clothing for… giant wolves.”

“Here now, let me help you. There’s sure to be proper scissors around here, somewhere. We’ll find out how to make it work, all right?” Manuela decided. “I’ll not have a single imperfection!”

Dorothea wanted to protest, but really, having her tail awkwardly hang between her legs was uncomfortable and made her look quite silly. With enough searching, Manuela was able to find a pair of scissors amidst the various tools. The two of them worked together to figure out just how and where to cut the skirt, and before long, the problem had been remedied. Her tail now perfectly slipped out from her skirt, free to swish about without constraint. 

“There! Absolutely stunning!” Manuela complimented, clapping her hands together. “Any man would be lucky to have you. I’m sure we’ll have this curse broken in absolutely no time at all!”

“You don’t have to flatter me, Manuela,” Dorothea insisted, sorrow and doubt lingering within her eyes. “This dress is lovely and all, but… I really can’t think of many people who would want some giant beast instead of a human. When that man cursed me, he told me… he told me that no man would ever love me. Really, I don’t think it’s possible.”

Manuela’s features soured as her painted eyebrows narrowed, meeting Dorothea’s gaze with a look of frustration. “It’s not like the Dorothea I know to give up so easily. The Dorothea I know has always done everything she could to achieve her dreams! It hasn’t even been ten years since I found you all alone in that alleyway, covered in wounds. You’ve done so well for yourself since then. It hurts me to see you so willing to just… accept your fate, after all you’ve been through,” the doll told her student sternly. “Never  _ once _ have I heard you listen to words from those stuck-up noblemen who think they know everything! I have full faith that you can pull through this. Besides, I can only imagine what dreamy man will come to sweep you into his arms! I’m a bit jealous. I mean, look at me! If you think no man’s gonna want you, honey, you haven’t taken a good look at me or anyone else here. What kinda guy is going to be into a doll? No one but a total creep!” she lamented. “Oh, Dorothea! I’m never going to find true love, am I?!”

While there was certainly some comfort to be had in Manuela’s words, the lecture had taken a complete opposite turn, and Dorothea found herself comforting her mentor with a gentle pat upon her head. “That’s… that’s not true… I’m sure there’s someone out there, Manuela...” she weakly assured the other woman, a bit perplexed at how swiftly the situation had flipped. “Let’s just both agree to do our best to find someone, all right? I mean, no one in the world can truly be unlovable, right…?”

As she spoke those words, the songstress pondered their weight. There were plenty of people out there who died all alone, their legacy withering into nothingness with no children or family to remember them by. Was it because they were someone who could not be loved, or because they had fallen victim to unfortunate circumstances? Her mother had been a gorgeous young woman with a gentle heart and bright, shining personality that would light smiles upon the faces of anyone she spoke to. Even so, her final moments had been spent upon the cold stone of an alleyway, with only her tiny daughter to comfort her. Dorothea had few memories left of her mother, but aside from the bitter final few weeks, they were all joyous. Certainly, her mother had not been unlovable. She was just one example of someone who had passed without ever knowing what love truly was.

Manuela herself didn’t even look like she was certain as she answered. “Well, I suppose not. Lots of different places have legends about that. A handsome man from Brigid once told me that over there, they have all these stories about soulmates, and how everyone is born with their destiny tied to another. Quite a romantic tale, isn’t it? It would make a good opera.”

“Mm, you’re right,” replied Dorothea, but her thoughts did not match her words. Operas were just that: operas. They were tales of splendor and tragedy, romanticized with superfluous words that bore no weight in reality. Sure, there were plenty of historical operas based on events such as the very first Battle of the Eagle and Lion, but even they were modified to add splendor and drama. Too often had Dorothea been forced to witness the harsh reality of the world. Just like how the Goddess was not real, neither were the operas she starred in. Indulging in such legends wouldn’t help.

Still, it was fun to indulge in such fantasies upon occasion. Maybe a miracle could still happen.

* * *

Over a breakfast of tea and leftover pastries, Manuela filled Dorothea in with a few of the discoveries the crew had made over the last few days. Vincent, Manuela’s date who had turned into a vase and promptly ran away, hadn’t actually been found, but they had spotted a very similar looking vase lying at the base of the opera house’s steps with more than just a few cracks in its glass body. Everyone had been far too nervous to investigate for themselves, and the steep steps proved far too difficult for their nearly inanimate bodies to traverse. The opera house’s former guards had decided to take turns stationed just outside the door to watch for any signs of potential visitors, but so far, nothing had gone by except wildlife. 

When the man had set his curse upon Dorothea and the entire opera house, he had alluded to various mysterious changes that had been made to the building. One of those mysterious changes appeared to be extra rooms towards the back which contained assorted living necessities. How thoughtful, Dorothea had thought sarcastically as she took a sip of tea. There was enough food to get by for a moon or so, but soon enough, Dorothea would have to find her own ways to get by. Given that she was a gigantic beast and seemingly a carnivore, judging by her vicious fangs suited for ripping and tearing through flesh, it was only natural to assume hunting was the best way to survive. The thought of slaughtering prey with her claws and teeth left the beast feeling sick to her stomach. Even so, as a survivor of the harsh alleyways of Enbarr, she knew she could not afford to be perturbed by the idea, not when she had once survived on literal trash. 

Breakfast between the two old friends was rather rudely interrupted when a certain teddy bear in stuffed armor waddled through the door, beady yet strangely life-filled eyes locking upon the beastly woman. He folded his stubby hands upon his silver chest plate and nodded to her in acknowledgment. “Dorothea, it seems you’ve finally decided to join us,” the director remarked, a hint of annoyance within his voice. 

“Yes, Director,” Dorothea replied dryly. She avoided his gaze, instead staring at the minuscule drops of tea that settled upon the bottom of her cup, far too awkward and small for her fur-coated beast hands. “I—“

“Manuela, have you told her about that boyfriend of yours?” the director continued onwards. “Given you’re the only being here capable of going down the stairs and back up without significant risk, I’m ordering you to investigate at once. I will not have any of our opera troupe  _ dying  _ under my watch.” 

While the director of the opera house was always a rather harsh man and at times had a short temper, he had never struck Dorothea as someone who sported genuine ill feelings towards any member of the troupe. It was evident the new situation was frustrating to him, especially given that he had a family still in Enbarr, likely fretting over his disappearance. He had certainly been kind enough to accept a scrappy orphan into the finest opera company in all of Fódlan. While the beast was less than thrilled at his sour mood, she could certainly understand where it had come from.

“Alright,” Dorothea agreed with a slight sigh. “Just let me finish my breakfast…”

Once she had eaten enough to settle her ravenous stomach, the songstress stood from the table and bid farewell to Manuela. She took a deep breath in and steeled herself for facing the outside world. While she was out investigating the mysterious vase, she figured she might as well take the time to investigate her surroundings. Though there was likely little she could deduce from the local trees, given that she was hardly an expert on fauna, at least she could survey any potential spots to hunt.

When Dorothea pried open the grand doors, she immediately felt a soft breeze upon her fur. The summer air swirled with the scent of fresh pine and newly-bloomed flowers, calming to the heart. Normally, Dorothea enjoyed indulging in such natural beauty, but there was no time to simply admire. She hustled down the steps until her bare feet met the overgrown grassy floor, tickling her soft pads. There, laying right beside the final step was a floral vase, identical to the one Vincent had become. A frown crept its way upon her furred face as she lifted it up, spinning it every which way. Cracks were embedded deep within the glassy surface, though the vase had yet to completely shatter. It felt light as a feather within Dorothea’s newly strengthened arms, and did not contain even the faintest traces of life. If this vase was once Vincent, it certainly wasn’t anymore.

But why? Was it due to the shatters, or perhaps something entirely different? A chilling shudder crept its way up Dorothea’s spine. She didn’t want to think about the other horrid possibilities. She placed the now lifeless vase upon the forest floor once more and turned her gaze towards the green thicket of trees that loomed over the impressive opera house. A claw scratched nervously at her muzzle as Dorothea contemplated her options. Anything could lurk within the deep woods. Given her new stature, she was likely more than well equipped to deal with any sort of danger, but whether or not she was prepared to utilize her fangs was another issue. Plus, Goddess forbid she ran into any sort of human in the woods. She feared the thought of any human’s terrified expression when they came face to face with her monstrous self.

“It’ll be alright,” she told herself. “If I come across anyone, I’ll just put on the old Dorothea charm! That’s sure to work…”

Even though she remained unconvinced by her own words, the woman stepped forth into the trees. She spent several minutes scouting out the surrounding area, finding little of interest. There was a small stream about five minutes away that led to a decently-sized lake, perfect for bathing. It was filled to the brim with plenty of fish, and Dorothea even had a go at attempting to capture some in her paws. Unfortunately, the slippery fish proved too swift for her awkward hands, so she quickly gave up. Flowers of all sorts sprouted around the edges of the lake, bringing color to the otherwise dark forest. She took the time to wash her fur within the cool waters, finding it much more difficult than caring for her hair. The feeling of heavy, soaked fur clinging to her was thoroughly unpleasant, and she found herself spending significantly more time attempting to squeeze water from her fur than actually bathing. She was still not entirely dry when she clothed herself once more, but she didn’t care to spend any more time bare in the middle of a forest. The afternoon sky had begun to overtake the morning air, and the whistling of songbirds subsided. It was time for her to head back.

As she passed by the lifeless vase once more, the beast felt unease grow within her heart. Even though the man had hardly been pleasant, she did not feel it was right to simply leave him lying upon the floor. Dorothea scooped the vase up into her arms before ascending back into the opera house, thoughts rife with worries. When she entered, she merely placed it upon a table before scurrying into the depths of her new prison, eager to indulge herself in the comfort of her room once more. She had done plenty for one day.

* * *

It took another two weeks before the opera house had its first visitor.

Dorothea had been sitting upon the bed in her room, surveying her hair in a hand mirror while humming a soft tune to herself. A rasp of a tiny hand upon her door drew her away from her activities. 

“Dorothea! Come, quickly! Someone is here!” Manuela’s voice called out to her.

Dorothea’s heart chilled over with a thicket of anxiety. “Someone’s here!?” she called back. “What do we do?”

“The director told me to come and get you. He wants you to speak with them.”

“Wh… what? I…” A million excuses flooded through Dorothea’s mind, but inside, she knew that she had to. Her gaze slowly shifted towards the rose upon her vanity, which had been carefully encased within glass. Its red petals were shimmering with the curse placed upon it, all still firmly attached to the stem. It had yet to show any signs of withering, but Dorothea knew well that its pristine condition would not last for much longer. “...I guess, just… oh, Manuela, what do I even say?! What if they run, or attack me, or...”

“Oh Dorothea, just give them some of your charm! I’m sure you’ll do perfectly fine,” the voice from the other side assured her. 

“I… all right. I’ll try…”

The nervous beast slipped free from her room and down the hall. Three distinct voices echoed from the grand entrance, one of which belonged to the director, and two of which Dorothea had never heard before. She tiptoed lightly around the corner and peaked her head out to get a good look at the opera house’s first visitors. Two young men were staring at the armored teddy bear, completely baffled. Their eyes may have been as wide as platters with shock, their jaws hanging slack. Both were dressed head to toe in silver armor, each holding a crimson shield embedded with the golden double-headed eagle. 

_ Imperial soldiers,  _ Dorothea thought to herself. Newly minted, she assumed, based off of their standard uniform and young faces, with not a wrinkle nor a scar to damage their skin. They had clearly not seen a real battle, a fact that was easily confirmed by the look of sheer terror that swept through the taller man’s blue eye when he noticed the beast in the corner. He nearly tripped over his own feet like someone who had a few too many drinks as he unsheathed the sword upon his hip, the blade quaking with his unsteady grip. “Monster!” he screeched.

Such a cry caused his fellow soldier to panic. He attempted to withdraw the axe strapped to his back, but fumbled with the leather keeping it firmly in place. The steel weapon clattered down upon the marble floor accompanied by an ear-piercing shriek, far higher pitched than Dorothea expected from a well-built man. The pure terror that clouded his already wide eyes filled the wolfish songstress with dread. She held her hands up as if in surrender and took a tentative step forward. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,” she told them softly, her gentle and feminine voice surely jarring compared to her towering form. 

The taller soldier blinked, and he lowered his shaky sword to the ground. Recognition sparked upon his face, and his lips curved into a perplexed frown. “Dorothea Arnault?” he asked, disbelief in his voice. “ **The** Dorothea Arnault?!”

“Ah… yes,” confirmed Dorothea sheepishly. She stepped free of the shadows and revealed her full, transformed form to the terrified young men. At least she was still recognizable, she thought to herself. She absentmindedly pulled upon the brim of her hat, shading her eyes, before realizing she was doing the exact  _ opposite  _ of what she was supposed to. Both of these soldiers looked like capable men a bit older than Dorothea, and judging by their well-kempt hair and highly built bodies, were likely well off. The beast swiftly corrected her mistake by pushing her hat up and sweeping a hand through long locks of silky brown hair. She offered both men one of her signature charming grins. “I’m glad to have visitors! It’s been so lonely in here…” she told them both with a faux sigh of relief. She was an actress, and it was time to do what she did best: pretend.

“Uhh…. you look, uh, different,” stammered the shorter soldier. He was about six feet and normally would stand taller than Dorothea, but was now short several inches. He shrunk back as the woman stepped closer, fingers awkwardly twitching as they instinctively sought the fallen axe. 

“Dorothea Arnault… Dorothea Arnault…” the taller soldier repeated. “Of course! I’ve seen your shows hundreds of times!”

“Oh? A fan?” Dorothea asked, her grin showing a hint of pearly-white fangs. “I’m always glad to meet my fans! Tell me, what show did you like best?”

“That’s the thing, uhhh….” the young man scratched his head with uncut nails, almost like a dog would itch off a flea. “I can’t really remember? I didn’t even remember who you were until a few minutes ago!”

Dorothea stopped in her tracks, the charming smile melting from her face like snow around a campfire. “What?”

“It’s weird. It’s like… the entire Mittelfrank Opera Company didn’t exist until I stepped inside,” the man elaborated further with a crooked frown. “It was completely gone from my memory. Then, like lighting, it just… hit me!” 

The second soldier nodded in agreement. “I… I also watched your shows,” he admitted. “But I had completely forgotten! Back in Enbarr, it’s like… it’s like you never even existed.” 

The director, who had remained quiet up until now, huffed with aggravation. “And I am asking you how that is even  _ possible _ ! I have a wife and children back in Enbarr. Are you saying they don’t remember me either?” he demanded.

The two soldiers were clearly more intimidated than they should have been by a nine-inch tall teddy bear, for they immediately cowered back, as though they were terrified mice and not trained military warriors. “How would I know!?” protested the taller soldier, getting a tad annoyed by the director’s temper. “All I know is that I forgot about the opera company, Dorothea, and probably any other members of your troupe, and so has everyone else in Fódlan.” 

Dorothea’s heart fell, fear clutching her very being. The terrible man who had placed this wretched curse upon her had stolen everything that had made her desirable. He had transformed her beautiful body into that of a monster, distorted her voice, and now stripped her bare of her fame. No longer was she the Mythical Songstress who has captivated the hearts of many—she was just a huge wolf living in the middle of the woods with the animated contents of a general store.

“Well, do something about it!” ordered the frustrated director as he stomped his plush little foot upon the floor. “Tell someone! Anyone! Tell Duke von Aegir! Surely there’s  _ someone _ amongst his great and powerful military who knows how to reverse this! He and that no-good thick-headed son of his have never missed a show of ours, I’m certain he will get off his lazy noble ass to help once he remembers!” 

The taller soldier groaned a bit. “Sure, I’ll let him know. I really don’t know if he’ll believe us, but…” He frantically glanced around the opera house before sheathing his sword. “We… We have to go. Busy schedule and all that.” It became immediately apparent that he simply wanted to leave, given how weak his excuse was.

“Yes!” piped in the other soldier while he retrieved his axe from the floor and slid it back within its restraints. “Don’t want to get Duke von Aegir angry with us!” 

“Wait!” Dorothea interrupted. This was the first opportunity she had in weeks to break through the curse, and she was letting it slip through her claws! “You said you were fans of mine, right? Why don’t you stay a bit longer, and we can chat a bit? I’d love to get to know you better,” she added suggestively, straightening out her expression into a charming smile.

“Uh, I mean. I used to think you were beautiful and all, but…” coughed the taller soldier. “...But… but… uh. Maybe we can chat after we’ve sorted this whole situation out, all right? I’d like that.”

Dorothea’s expression soured. It was exactly the response she had expected, and yet, actually  _ hearing _ it for the first time was like a sharp knife twisting right into her heart. She couldn’t even fathom what to say in response. Luckily, the director cut in before she could muster up a dejected reply.

“Just leave!” he shouted. “Go on, hurry! I do not want to live here a moment longer! My wife is waiting for me!”

With that, the two soldiers more than happily scurried out, leaving behind a beast who was trying not to burst into tears.

That was the last time Dorothea heard from those two men. In the days following, no one came to their rescue, as though the soldiers had failed to inform anyone at all. Perhaps they had decided that it was too unbelievable a story, or perhaps they had even been killed by creatures in the forest before they could make it back to Enbarr. Either way, the opera company was free from visitors, at least until two weeks later, when the next set of confused wanders happened upon the company with the same exact story. They too had forgotten all about the Mittelfrank Opera Company, and all about Dorothea Arnault. Though they had also vowed to let someone know, rescue still did not come.

Then, it kept happening.

Every time someone entered the opera house, it was the same thing over and over again. Amongst the visitors were plenty of handsome, well-off men that could provide Dorothea with a comfortable future, but all of them hid in fear of her new appearance. Some attempted to be kind, politely rejecting Dorothea’s offer to stay for tea with pathetic excuses. One dashing, fiery-haired noble from the Kingdom had even entertained her by flirting back, only to accidentally let it slip that he thought she “was probably beautiful when she was human.” Dorothea had only been moderately offended, as she cared little for his nauseating attempts to charm her to begin with, but the same certainly couldn’t be said for others. There were plenty of nobles who had recoiled in horror at the sight of her, unable to hide their disgust. They hurled insults at her, sneered in her face, even laughed at her misfortune. Each time, Dorothea was reminded of her childhood days of being kicked by stuck-up nobles who found the sight of the starving orphan nothing more than an annoyance. So many years of building up a name for herself had ended in nothing.

And so, the years went by. One by one, the petals upon the cursed rose began to wither.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanna thank everyone who has read this thus far... i've worked REALLY hard on this fanfic over the last month (i know ive said this before but i cannot stress it enough) and the reception has really made me happy!!! i hope you will continue to read this fanfic and leave comments <3\. 
> 
> my schedule for updating fanfics might get a bit wonky since doropetra week is coming up, and i have to start writing my pieces relatively soon. i encourage everyone to join in if you aren't already planning! fanfics, art, whatever else you can possibly think of to celebrate dorothea and petra's love! 
> 
> anyways, be sure to leave a kudo if you haven't, comment, [and follow me on twitter for any future updates.](https://twitter.com/brigidspride)
> 
> thank you soooooo much for reading.


	3. A Fated Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that the recent forging bonds in FE:Heroes gave Duke von Aegir an actual name? I had to change a few lines to adjust that.
> 
> In this chapter: Petra gets caught in a sticky situation, but meets a beastly woman who has the perfect way to help her...

_ Imperial Year 1185 _

Ludwig von Aegir was a greedy man. Though Emperor Ionius IX still lived, despite his fragile and infirm constitution, everyone in the Empire knew that Ludwig von Aegir was the true ruler of Adrestia, and what a power hungry ruler he was. With his pompous attitude and disregard for the civilians that lived underneath him, many upon the streets of Enbarr had grown to despise the atrocious man. However, with the entirety of the Imperial Army under his control, no one ever dared to defy the man. As such, when the prime minister sent a courier with a message demanding that Petra meet with him in the throne room for urgent business, she immediately agreed.

The Brigid princess could only speculate what the prime minister wanted with her. Given her precarious position as the Empire’s hostage to ensure that Brigid would never again attempt to rebel, she immediately assumed that his orders had something to do with her homeland. It had been ten years since she had last seen the luscious isles of Brigid, and it was strange to think that she had almost spent more of her life in the foreign land of Fódlan. How her heart longed to once again see her home, to bathe herself in the crystal-clear oceans while she felt the tickle of native fish brushing against her legs as they sought to distance themselves from the fishing vessels. She wished with all her heart that the duke was summoning her to be sent back home, but she knew that it was an impossibility. She was what tied Brigid’s loyalty to Adrestia, their insurance for an unfair alliance. 

Still, she could always dream.

That morning, Petra adorned herself in her newly acquired traditional Brigid garb, sent to her from her grandfather on a recent shipment. Included was a long letter from the king, describing how much he missed her and how the homeland was fairing. His vivid descriptions of the abundant nature made the young princess nostalgic and all the more homesick. Wearing the familiar clothing of her homeland rather than the Empire attire made her feel just a bit more free. The short top that left her back almost completely exposed certainly wasn’t designed for the chillier Fódlan, but she cared not. Seeing her reflection garbed fully in the clothing of her homeland filled her heart with pride. Her burgundy hair was now tied back into a long ponytail, held together by traditional braids passed down for generations in the royal family. A long sash hanging from her shoulder slid downwards and wrapped around her waist, to her colorful and short skirt made of Brigid furs. Various necklaces and bracelets decorated her, alongside a pair of stunning green earrings. 

Petra grinned. She looked truly beautiful.

However, she had no more time to waste. She made haste to the throne room, which Duke von Aegir had made his own. The emperor was far too ill to do anything other than lie in bed, thus, the prime minister saw no issue with using it as he saw fit. Sure enough, the plump noble was sitting right upon the throne, surrounded by a slew of heavily armored guards. Beside him, however, was none other than Ferdinand von Aegir.

“Ah, good morning, Petra!” greeted Ferdinand with a smile. The two of them had become rather close friends despite her circumstances, and over the many years, she had learned that he was nothing like his corrupt father. He despised the ill treatment that Petra had received, and actively attempted to persuade his father to allow her better conditions. “Did you have business you wished to discuss?”

“I called her here,” Ludwig cut in, his voice gruff. “Come now, I don’t have all day. We have much to discuss.”

Petra stood before the prime minister, softly smiling despite her dislike for the man. It was he who ordered her to be kept captive in a small room, and if it weren’t for the work of Ferdinand and Duke Gerth of Foreign Affairs, she would likely still be spending most of her days with little to do other than decipher Fódlan text. “What is it that you were wanting to discuss?” she inquired, keeping an open mind.

“The future of Brigid, naturally,” the prime minister began. “Brigid has been a very cooperative vassal ever since your people lost the war, thanks in part to your presence here. However, I am certain you worry about your country’s future, and about your future here in the Empire.”

Petra’s eyes immediately lit up. Could this be her chance to turn her tides? “That is being the truth. Brigid does not have equal… erm… equality, to the Empire. As queen, I am wishing to change that.”

Ludwig fixed himself with a sly smile. “That is what I was hoping to hear. Then you will be glad to know that I have decided upon a way to bring about peace to our nations.”

The princess blinked in surprise, unsure that she was not dreaming. “You are wanting peace between Fódlan and Brigid? I would be liking that greatly!” she agreed. “Please, be telling me your plan.”

The prime minister sat up straight in the oversized throne, giving the princess a very stern look before answering. “You will marry my son.”

It took a moment for Petra to process his words. She cocked her head to the side, her lips quirking into a frown. “You… you are wanting me to marry Ferdinand?” she asked.

Ferdinand looked rather alarmed at the sudden proposal, face growing pale white. “Father!” he exclaimed. “Petra is a good friend of mine, yes, but to marry her—”

“ —You have no say in the matter, Ferdinand,” Duke von Aegir interrupted. “I have already made arrangements for it to be done. The Empire and Brigid will be tied together through the bonds of marriage.”

Petra’s heart immediately sunk. When she had wished for Brigid to stand upon equal ground with the Empire, the matter of her own  _ marriage _ hadn’t been on her mind. It was immediately apparent to her that while this offer was being presented with her as the guise of leveling Brigid with the Empire, in actuality, it was just another way for Ludwig von Aegir to claim power over the oceanic nation. The von Aegir family would gain partial control over Brigid, and with Petra’s fragile position as a hostage, he could easily manipulate his way into gaining full authority. How foolish of her to expect anything else from such a greedy man.

“It is a kind offer, but I must be declining,” Petra replied. “In Brigid, we do not marry for politics. It is up to the spirits to be guiding us towards our destined partner.”

Duke von Aegir’s features visibly soured, and his lips thinned into a straight line. He had little regard for the culture of Brigid, frequently dissuading her from her practices. “Do you not realize who it is you are speaking to? I am Ludwig von Aegir, Prime Minister of Adrestia, and you have no choice,” he told her, rage trickling through his stern voice. “The decision has already been made, and the date of the wedding set. Your grandfather has already been informed.”

“My grandfather? He was agreeing to this?” questioned Petra, a mixture of confusion and hurt growing within her heart. Her grandfather was always so considerate of her feelings, and knew well that an arranged marriage was not something that she desired. 

“He had to. He did not quite like the alternative,” he answered, and right away, the princess realized what the man had done. He had threatened her life, told her grandfather that she would be killed if he did not agree. Hatred like no other bubbled within the pit of her stomach, and the princess clenched her teeth together in aggravation. 

“Father! You cannot do this!” Ferdinand protested once more. His eyebrows narrowed as orange eyes shone with indignation. “Petra and I do not wish to marry. Please, do not make us do this!”

“Silence!” shouted Ludwig. His fist slammed down upon the golden armrest of the throne, the echo reverberating throughout the grand room. Immediately, his son simmered down, staring at his feet blankly. “What is done is done! In ten days, you two will be wed, right here in this very castle. I am to hear no more protests. Am I understood?”

Despite all the frustration rising within her, Petra knew that nothing could be done. How she wished it possible to stand up for herself, to stand up for the future of her people, but she was surrounded on all ends by guards more than willing to put an end to her life if the order was given. All she could do was nod in acceptance, all while she felt tears well up within her brown eyes. Ferdinand too nodded, but judging by the pained look upon his face, he too was not at all happy with his newfound situation. 

“For now until the wedding, you shall be kept within your room. Do not even think of running off. If you try, I will have you executed. Is that understood?”

Once again, Petra could only nod despite the boiling flames of rage growing ever stronger. “I… I have understanding. I will not be running… I will gladly be marrying your son, Duke von Aegir...” she choked out.

“Good. Now then, back to your room with you. Preparations must be made.”

Obediently, Petra turned on her heel and left behind the throne room, but not before catching Ferdinand’s eye. The nobleman’s orange eyes were painted over with panic, teeth seared together in frustration as his knuckles turned stark white from gripping them. She was followed by two guards who made sure that she did not attempt to flee. She hustled back to her room, where she slammed the door in their faces and collapsed on the bed, unable to hold back the tears in her eyes. Despite the horrible circumstances she had found herself in, despite being a hostage for the empire, she had kept training in hopes that one day, she would be strong enough to free her people from the chains of Fódlan. But now, she was completely and utterly powerless…! 

What could she possibly do?

* * *

Dorothea held the crimson red opera dress out before her, admiring the intricacies it possessed. It was shoulderless, with sleeves that ended in black frills and a chest that was cut a bit low. It was the kind of dress that demanded attention, only suited for the star of the stage. 

It took a bit of time to get it suited to her form. She pulled the dress over her head and adjusted the gem-encrusted choker to fit snugly around her neck. The silver corset proved difficult to lace together on her own, but after some trial and error, she managed to keep it steady upon herself. The silk-like fabric hugged her body, yet flowed gently off of her like a calm river. Against all odds, it felt comfortable.

Dorothea sighed morosely as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, of her beastly form clad in a human dress. Her claws ironed out any wrinkles in the fabric before combing through locks of brown hair, making sure it was not tangled around the horns poking from behind her ears, chasing away all the imperfections she could. She turned so that she could see how her fluffy dark tail poked out from the back, how her exposed fur-coated back looked against the striking red fabric. Her pointed ears twitched at the sight, earrings jingling.

“Oh, I’m hopeless,” she lamented. “No matter what I do, I still look hideous.” Five whole years, and not a single visitor had even entertained the notion of a date. 

“That’s not true, dear,” Manuela’s voice assured her from her position upon the bookshelf. The doll stepped forward as she, too, gazed at the reflection. “You still look lovely. That dress is perfect on you.” She sighed. “Wish I could say the same for me. Who would want this?” She looked down at her porcelain form. “At least you’re not a child’s toy!”

Dorothea spun around and shook her head. “Don’t say that about yourself, Manuela. You’re still beautiful, even like this.” A clawed hand reached out to touch Manuela’s form lightly, not wishing to break her. “If you’re just a child’s toy, you certainly are a very expensive one.”

“I suppose it could be worse,” the older opera singer mused. She lightly tapped Dorothea’s snout with a tiny finger. “But I’ll not have you say another word about yourself, other than positive ones. You’ve grown into a fine young lady, and any man would be lucky to have you.”

Dorothea’s wolfish cheeks flustered as she twirled a lock of hair around a claw. “You don’t mean that. You couldn’t.” She couldn’t believe that Manuela did mean it, no matter how many times the other woman tried to reassure her otherwise.

“I do! I’ll bet the next guy who steps in here will be swept off his feet! Especially with a dress like that,” Manuela commented, eyeing the extravagant gown. “Red suits you, and it’s got just enough skin—erm, fur showing.” 

“Maybe from fear,” Dorothea added on with a sigh. Years of being stuck in the body of a monster had done terrible things to already awful self-esteem. Manuela gave her a pointed look, forcing Dorothea to hold her hands up in surrender. “Sorry. It’s just… hard. The years are passing by and… that rose is withering.” The beastly woman’s vision drifted towards the encased rose, now with only a scarce few petals left clinging to it. “I don’t know how much longer we’ve got. It’s not like I can just leave and find love elsewhere! There’d be a huge scene, and someone would definitely try to kill me. No one remembers who I am! I’m no longer the Mythical Songstress, I’m … I’m just some beast waiting to die.”

“Dorothea…” whispered Manuela. Her tiny hands stroked a patch of Dorothea’s auburn fur, her touch cold and weightless, bringing little comfort. “I know how you feel. We’re all in this together, you know. We’ve all lost everything, but we do have each other. I’m certain we can all work together to break this curse! We’ll make you the most desired bride in all of Fódlan!”

The beast managed a small smile, showing off hints of pointed teeth. “Okay. I’ll believe in you, Manuela,” she murmured, though in her heart, her turmoil was growing. No matter how many men before had offered up their hand in marriage back when she was a human, she had never felt the same for any of them. It wasn’t a simple matter of finding someone who loved her. She had to find someone she loved back. 

“That’s it! Now, no more sulking for you. Let’s get a bit of food in your stomach before rehearsal,” the teacher advised. “If you would carry me, dear. I’d rather not risk chipping my skin.” 

Rehearsal. In the last five years, the odd inhabitants of the opera house had grown bored of simply waiting for the right man to walk through the door and save them all from their horrid curse. Given that they were still an opera troupe, despite their modified bodies, they had resorted back to what they did best: putting on shows. While the audience consisted solely of the transformed guards and those that worked behind the stage, there was some solace in continuing in their regular routine, as though all was normal. Plenty of accommodations had to be made to suit the actors, as many scenes proved difficult to pull off due to most members of the opera troupe lacking arms. Despite the strangeness of a bunch of possessed objects alongside a giant, wolfish beast performing some of the most beloved tales in all of Fódlan, the results they managed to achieve were satisfactory. 

Now, if only someone would stop by who would be willing to watch such a spectacular sight.

Dorothea scooped the doll up into her arms carefully. “All right. Let’s do our best today, Manuela!” she declared.

“That’s the spirit, kid!”

The two songstresses stopped by the makeshift kitchen first, where Dorothea grabbed some dried meat she had prepared about a week ago. Her diet now consisted primarily of such, alongside whatever foraged berries she could get her claws on. After filling her stomach up, she and Manuela made their way backstage, where numerous enchanted members of their opera troupe awaited them. Those that had been transformed into children’s dolls were working together to tug set pieces into their proper positions, while less the other, less fortunate members were scanning over scripts hanging upon the walls. As soon as Dorothea set foot upon the stage, all eyes were upon her. A sheepish grin of pearly-white canines adorned her beastly features as her nerves flared up. Her new dress was far more provocative than any she had dared adorn before, and she fretted over whether or not the others would approve.

“Good morning, Dorothea! You look simply lovely today,” greeted Eva the hairbrush from her position upon an empty crate. “The red really suits you!”

“Quite a daring look, if I do say so myself,” remarked Anabel the teapot, a fellow performer who often tended to be cast as villains due to her rather withered facial features and intimidating amber eyes. The brightly painted daisies upon her new ceramic form suited her tendency to wear garish gowns when not upon the stage. “You’re sure to catch someone’s eye in one way or another.”

“Thank you, Eva,” Dorothea replied, uncertain what to make of the teapot’s comment. Judging by Anabel’s usual foul attitude, she wagered it was more of an insult than a compliment. She lowered Manuela to the ground and placed her gingerly, claws careful not to leave any unsightly scratches upon her cold skin. “Now then, are we almost ready to begin practice?”

“Indeed we are!” the director boomed. The teddy bear stood upon a shining gold pedestal cushioned with red, velvety fabric. “Why don’t we take it from the first musical number? Now then, places, everyone!! ”

All members of the opera troupe in their various shapes and sizes raced to their spots upon the stage with the sounds of frantic clattering against the floor. Dorothea took center stage and gazed out into the open, empty audience. She tried hard not to think of the days when every seat in the building was occupied, hundreds of entranced eyes mesmerized solely by her beautiful form. She adjusted her choker as she cleared her throat, preparing her new voice. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to become a thrall to her song, her whole body overtaken by music. Five years of training her gruff, wolfish voice had paid off. She sung the lyrics to her aria with perfect clarity, escaping the accidental growls that had plagued her for so long. A hand outstretched towards the glittering stage lights while she perfectly recited each and every word etched into her memory, the result of days worth of doing nothing but reading her script repeatedly. As the end drew near, Dorothea held the final high note without a hitch, despite the lump of nerves in the back of her throat. When she had finished, she took a deep, much-needed breath in and peaked her eyes open. 

Gentle claps of porcelain hands sounded out from her fellow actors behind her. From upon the pedestal, the director’s mouth was curved into a satisfied half-smirk. Relief washed over Dorothea, and she let out a sigh she hadn’t realized she had been holding in. Claws wiped away sweat from her fluffy brow. 

“Perfect, Dorothea!” admired Manuela. “I could barely hear the difference in your voice. It was like you were five years younger!”

“Indeed! You’ve blown me away,” the director agreed. His stubby, stuffed arms clapped together comedically, the resulting noise barely audible. 

Dorothea scratched her left cheek with a single claw. If she hadn’t had fur covering her from head to toe, she was certain she would be blushing. “Thank you, Manuela, Director. I suppose that’s the result of five years of nonstop practice,” she added bashfully.

“Could use a bit more work,” came Anabel’s pessimistic assertion. “You cut off a bit too soon. Not that it really matters. No one’s going to come listen, anyways.”

Anabel’s words twisted the knife of anxiety further into Dorothea’s heart, and she grit her teeth together to prevent herself from retorting. As much as she hated to admit it, the woman was correct. All of this routine of practice and musical numbers was a mere distraction from the dire situation that still lingered, no matter how hard she tried to forget about the withering rose. Five whole years was longer than she had ever expected to live with this curse, and she could not fathom that she had another five left. 

The director coughed. “Yes, well. Perhaps some day, one of our visitors will choose to stay,” he added on dryly, averting his gaze. The years had made his attitude simmer, and now, the once snappy director seemed as though he had accepted that he now lived within his casket. Many other residents of the Mittelfrank Opera Company had become apathetic, knowing that lifting the curse was becoming nigh impossible. 

Oh how Dorothea wished there was something she could do other than wait. She dared not venture far from the cursed opera house, for she knew not how a whole village of humans would react if she were to seek help. The mystery of why assistance had never come had been solved around a year ago, when a soldier who had visited previously turned up once more upon the steps and confessed that he had forgotten all about his encounter mere hours after he had left. Anyone who left the Mittelfrank Opera Company’s building would forget all about the strange inhabitants and its very existence soon after, thus making it impossible for anyone to return with company. Dorothea appeared to be the only exception to the rule, for an unfortunate accident had revealed the answer of what had happened to Vincent the vase: he had simply ceased to exist. The souls of those within the possessed objects would wither away after a few minutes outside, and they would be reduced to mere furniture once more. Everyone was stuck within the confines of the building, and without a way to send for aid, nothing could be done except waiting for the right person to walk by.

Until that day, she would have to keep singing. For what else was she to do?

* * *

Petra Macneary couldn’t sleep. It was well past two o'clock in the morning, and she was still wide awake.

Brown, sorrowful eyes gazed wistfully out the window of her former bedroom-turned-prison-cell. The clear, black sky glistening with an array of constellations, reminding the princess of the nights she used to spend as a child, laying upon the soft sands and listening to her father name the shapes amongst the stars. They brought her comfort upon an otherwise chilly summer night, the apprehension for what was to come tomorrow morning stinging her with anxiety. “ _ Oh, stars of the great Hunter, give me strength _ ,” she prayed in Brigaeli. “ _ I ask that you may one day guide me home…” _

The flap of pure white hanging from her wall demanded her immediate attention. A beautiful wedding gown swayed in the breeze emanating from the open window. Tomorrow, she was to don it first thing in the morning. It was far too extravagant for her taste, far too frilly and far too puffy. The stark white wedding dresses of Fódlan were a far cry from the traditional Brigid gowns, with furs and silky fabric dyed in an array of brilliant colors. She had certainly never thought she would ever adorn such a colorless dress upon her wedding day. Yet, here she was, dreading the rising sun that would lead her to a loveless marriage. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Ferdinand. Ferdinand had been a kind friend to her all these years, but he was nothing more than that. He was plenty handsome and certainly not straining to be around, and would almost certainly make for a wonderful husband to anyone lucky enough to capture his heart. Indeed, many young women often admired him from afar, whispering to each other about their less than pure fantasies. 

But Petra was not like those girls. Never once had she possessed eyes for a man. Instead, she spent days dreaming about the soft, loving embrace of another woman. In her dreams, it had always been a girl who stood upon the altar with her, holding her hand as the priests called for the spirits to bless their union. Such was not strange in Brigid—there, love was celebrated regardless of the participants’ sex. The oceanic nation possessed ancient legends about love, about how everyone was born with their fate tied to another. Petra had always believed with all her heart in these stories, and knew that somewhere out there, her soulmate was waiting for her. Whoever that woman was, she certainly wasn’t Ferdinand.

Her teeth gritted together as salty tears formed, brimming over. How she longed to run far, far away from the Empire, far from Ludwig von Aegir and his power-hungry self. She was caged like a pet bird, wings clipped and tied. It was not only her whose fate would change tomorrow, but the entirety of Brigid. Surrendering herself to the binds of marriage meant handing over her country to the reins of Duke von Aegir, and when her grandfather passed, he would gain complete control. What horrible things he would do to her people, she could only imagine. Brigid would never be the same again.

“ _ Please, Spirits, _ ” she whispered, hands clasped together in fervent prayer. “ _ If you can hear me from here… please save me. I do not want to be married, I do not want to give Brigid to this greedy man. Oh Spirits, set me free…” _

Yet, it was not the spirits who answered. Petra jumped up when she heard a key jingle within the lock of her door. Acting upon instinct, she reached for the gleaming dagger upon her nightstand and held it pointed out. If one of Duke von Aegir’s men was here to take her this early, she would not surrender herself without a fight. The life that awaited her after marriage was surely a fate worse than death. The door creaked open, and Petra steeled herself for an ambush. 

“Petra!” whispered the figure who stepped in. Long locks of disheveled orange hair tumbled down from his head, and despite the hour, his similarly-colored eyes were wide with vigor. “Come now, swiftly!’

“Ferdinand?” Petra addressed in surprise, lowering the dagger. “Why… why are you here? How?”

“Listen, I… there is no time to explain. Let us get you out of here, now!”

The princess blinked in surprise. “Where will you be taking me?” she asked.

“Away from here. Far, far away,” Ferdinand told her. “Now, get dressed and grab whatever you need! Before the guards notice the key is missing!”

Petra wasted absolutely no time. She scrambled to pull her day clothing on while Ferdinand’s eyes were turned, and strapped her dagger to her waist. She slung a quiver over her shoulder and snatched her bow, just in case she needed to fight. She hustled towards the door, curious eyes peering up at the noble man. 

“Petra, you do not have to be afraid of telling me. You do not wish to be married to me, and to be honest, I… well, there’s someone else I would rather wed as well,” he admitted with a slight pink tint to his cheeks. “My father is a corrupt man, and there is no doubt in my mind he only wants us to marry so that he can control Brigid for himself. I have been discussing things with Edelgard, but we could not yet find a way to call off the wedding. The only other option that we can see is for you to run away, to hide far from my father and the Imperial army. The only issue is… well… where you would go.”

The options available to Petra were limited. Back when her father was still alive, he sometimes would take her on hunting trips that spanned a few days’ length. Such was a way to connect with nature, to become one with the spirits that governed the island. However, they had brought with them plenty of resources and had a secure house to stay in. To the east of Enbarr was a vast forest she often went hunting in, whenever she was permitted to do so by the Imperial Army. She knew not what awaited her in the depths of the forests of Adrestia, knew not if there was even a place to sleep to begin with. But she did not wish to become chained to Fódlan, did not wish to give up her homeland to the hands of a greedy Imperial noble. If worse came to worse, she could scale a tree and nap amongst the leaves, just as she had done upon lazy afternoons in Brigid. It would prove difficult, but she had already made up her mind.

“I will be going to the forest,” she declared with full confidence, standing tall and proud. “I am able to be hunting, and surviving. Even if there is no shelter, I will be making my own. I cannot allow Brigid to be controlled by the Empire!”

The future prime minister looked startled by the sudden proclamation. “Are you sure? I am certain that I can find you shelter here in Enbarr, or in Aegir territory. Surely there must be someone who would be willing to cooperate…”

No matter what Ferdinand said, Petra’s decision could not be swayed. Duke von Aegir’s men were stationed all throughout Adrestian cities, and she could not leave her future in the hands of some unknown noble. “I will be fine, Ferdinand,” she assured him. “I am a warrior of Brigid, protected by the spirits. I will not be bested by the forests of Fódlan.”

Despite his hesitance, the man could only nod in agreement. “Very well! If you are certain. However, I will do my best to come and find you every so often. I will keep a close eye on the situation here, and tell you when it is safe for you to return, I promise you. Now then, shall we head off?”

“Yes! I am ready to be leaving.”

Escaping from the Enbarr castle proved to be far less difficult than Petra imagined. Given that she was a huntress trained in the art of stealth, she knew just how to hide her presence amongst the shadows, how to quiet her breathing and how to step lightly. All the while, Ferdinand kept a lookout for any guards still wandering the palace, and guided Petra away from them before they could even hope to spot her. It took about ten minutes total for her to slip out of the castle’s rear entrance completely unnoticed. She let out a long breath of relief as her skin met with the open summer air, a wide smile lighting her face. After nine whole days of being imprisoned in the confines of her tiny room, the fresh air was so very welcome. She was as free as a sparrow, ready to spread her wings and fly off into the horizon. 

Ferdinand snuck out behind her, a slight frown upon his face. “I trust that you know how to reach the woods from here. I will have to stay behind and make sure that no one takes notice of your disappearance.”

“Yes. Do not be worrying about me, Ferdinand… and… you are having my greatest gratitude,” she told him as she turned upon her heel, flashing him an exuberant grin. 

“It is not a problem! It is my duty as a noble to make sure our esteemed guest is comfortable, and far out of the grasp of harm!” boasted Ferdinand, puffing his chest out in pride as his orange eyes glittered. “Now then, I shall not keep you any longer. Go forth, princess of Brigid!”

“Farewell, Ferdinand! I will be meeting with you again soon.”

With that, the princess took to the darkened streets, lit with nothing but the torches hanging from stone walls and the stars above. All she needed to do was follow the great Hunter in the sky, let herself be guided by his starry arrow, just as her father had always instructed her. It would not be long until she reached the safety of the forest.

* * *

Dawn came swifter than Petra had expected.

The songs of morning birds fluttering high in the treetops woke her from her brief slumber. Brown eyes peaked open to meet the hues of pink and blue painting the sky, and the bright early sun beaming unpleasantly. She rubbed her eyes with a low grumble, still thoroughly exhausted from last night’s escapades. She forced herself to stand, to stretch her limbs out with a satisfying crack. She had only been sleeping for a fleeting three hours, but she was still within the outer perimeter of the Adrestian woods. Soon, the guards would rise and notice her missing. She had to travel further.

She picked her bow and quiver up from where they leaned against the tree trunk. Sleeping upon the forest floor offered little to no comfort, and the roots peeking out from underneath the soil left imprints upon her back. Tonight, she would have to find a much more preferable spot to sleep. 

“ _ Spirits, bring me luck _ ,” the huntress whispered. It was time to move.

Petra ventured further into the woods, evading thorny thickets and tricky rocks. She wandered through seemingly endless amounts of trees, until she happened upon a stream trickling gently through the ground. Tiny Airmid Goby swum against the currents through the clear water, catching the princess’s eyes. Though they were far too small to eat, it was an indicator of a possible food source nearby. Wherever small fish went, the big fish were sure to go. The princess decided to follow the stream in hopes that it would lead to a pond. After about fifty minutes of trekking over stones, the search proved fruitful. The stream opened up to a moderate-sized lake, surrounded on all sides by a range of brightly-colored flowers. Underneath the water’s surface, she could spot far more sustainable fish, such as a school of Teutates Pike and even a few Bullhead. With all the wandering she had done, her stomach was beginning to growl. Perhaps if she could locate practical firewood, she could cook up a meal. Catching fish was of no issue to her, for she had been an angler ever since childhood. Even with the most flimsy of tools, she could easily capture even a slippery fish, sometimes with her own bare hands.

Mind made up, the princess scouted the nearby area for any useful material to build a fire. Oddly enough, she found that many of the nearby trees were embedded with long, deep scratch marks, reminiscent of a large beast. She cocked her head to the side, analyzing the markings. They were far too large to be made by a wolf, and yet, they reminded the huntress of a canine. 

“ _ A bear…? _ ” she speculated. It wasn’t as though she had happened upon any bears in her previous hunts, but it was always possible that such beasts lingered only within the deepest parts of the forest. A crooked frown adorned her expression. She would have to be on the lookout for such predators. She continued on her fruitless search, until she happened upon an odd clearing in the woods, the first she had encountered. What awaited her, lying amongst the tall trees, was… a building.

It wasn’t just any building. The tall, extravagant structure was built by white stone, reminiscent of the architecture in Enbarr. In fact, judging by the red and golden banners bearing the double-headed eagle hanging just above the entrance, it was, in fact, a building from Enbarr. A tall set of stairs led up to grand doors and intricate stained glass windows, sparking an odd, nagging feeling in the back of Petra’s mind. It looked so very familiar, like she had been inside the very same building before. Yet, as she rummaged through her brain for answers, she found absolutely none. Staring at it was making her feel dizzy with bewilderment. The answer was lying there, right upon the tip of her tongue, but every time she thought she had come to a conclusion, it would slip right between her fingers. 

Never mind that this could very well be some Imperial trap. This situation was far too bizarre for her to turn her back from. She needed answers. Without another thought, she ascended up the steep steps, and placed her palms upon the huge set of doors. Then, with a firm push, she entered the building.

As soon as she stepped foot within the interior, her mind was struck by what felt like a flash of lightning. Brown eyes widened and her jaw gaped open as memories flooded her like a raging waterfall. The extravagant interior, decorated with bright red banners and expensive artwork depicting famous plays that Ferdinand had described to her, could only belong to one place: The Mittelfrank Opera Company, which she had visited five years prior. Ferdinand had taken her to see the final production of  _ The Princess of Faerghus _ , starring the Mythical Songstress Dorothea Arnault. It had been a spectacular performance, and Petra had been drawn in by the flawless musical numbers and the dedicated actors, but  _ especially  _ the star herself. She remembered how her eyes had never left the form of Dorothea, so beautifully clad in a shimmering, blue dress. She watched every graceful movement, listened carefully to every impeccable note as though she had been hypnotized. How could she have possibly forgotten!?

Not even a moment later, the princess’s keen ears picked up upon clattering coming from a hallway. She faltered, wondering if she should book it, or allow her curiosity to overtake her. She ended up choosing the latter, but not before darting behind a golden pedestal. What she next saw was far more baffling than anything else she had witnessed in the past minute: A walking sword, moving on its own as though possessed. 

“Hello?” the sword’s voice called out. “Who’s there? Show yourself…!”

Bewildered, Petra simply stared at the living weapon. She pinched sensitive skin upon her shoulder to assure herself that she had not fallen into some strange dream. Was this some sort of Fódlan magic she had never heard of?

“Come on out now, I know you’re here,” the sword goaded. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

Hesitantly, the Brigid princess stood. She still had her dagger and bow if worse came to worse, and she couldn’t imagine losing a battle to what was essentially a sword hopping upon its own handle. “...Ah... good morning,” she greeted the strange resident. “Is this… The Mittelfrank Opera Company?”

The sword approached her, and she noticed a pair of brown eyes lying just at the end of the hilt. They scanned her form up and down carefully. “Yes,” it answered. “Welcome, visitor, to our home.”

Petra looked warily around at her surroundings, and her face scrunched up in confusion. This was without a doubt the Mittelfrank Opera Company, but what was it doing in the middle of the Adrestian forest? And how did she forget about it for five whole years? The very next day after seeing the show, the entire opera and it’s troupe vanished from her mind, and she wasn’t alone in her memory loss. Ferdinand had forgotten too, in fact, he had often lamented how there was nowhere to see an opera in Enbarr. 

“I… I do not have understanding,” she admitted. “Until now, I had forgotten all about this building. Why are you in the woods? And… why are you a sword?”

“Ah, yes, well,” the sword muttered. “Let me get you someone who can explain a bit better than I can. I’m just a guard here. Now, wait just a moment…”

The sword turned and hopped over to the hallway, where he bellowed: “Director…! There’s a visitor!”

Seconds later, another voice hollered back: “A visitor? Hold on, I will be there in a moment…!”

This time, Petra did not hear footsteps upon the marble floors, and it became evident why when she saw who had arrived: a small children’s teddy bear, adorned with stuffed armor. It possessed beady, navy blue eyes that seemed more fit to embellish the face of a forty-year-old man than a child’s toy. A pudgy hand poked his tiny cheek as he contemplated the woman who stood before her, stitched eyebrows furrowed and mouth curved downwards into a frown. 

“A woman,” he mumbled, a twinge of disappointment evident in his deep voice. “From Brigid, I presume? I recognize those marks.”

“Ah, yes,” she answered. “I am from Brigid. But I have been living in the Empire for the past ten years, and have seen an opera here before. I am having much confusion… You are… a teddy bear?”

The teddy coughed into his stubby, fingerless hand. “Oh, how tired I am of explaining this,” he grumbled, “yes, I am a teddy bear. No, I haven’t always been one. I’m the director of the Mittelfrank Opera Company. A curse was cast upon this building and turned us all into inanimate objects. For some reason, we’re in the middle of the forest now, and no one remembers us. When you leave here, you’ll forget again. Does that explanation please you, or can I answer any other questions I know you’re about to ask?” 

Petra’s eyebrows furrowed as she attempted to wrap her head around the situation. The director’s explanation had been succinct, but diving into all the intricacies of it just brought up hundreds of questions. Why, exactly, had they been cursed, and who was the perpetrator? The teddy who stood before her hardly seemed patient enough to deal with a barrage of questions he surely had to answer a thousand times over. In fact, before she could even muster up a response, he swiftly interjected.

“Well? If you’re just here to gawk, move along. Hurry on! Forget all about what you saw today,” he shooed. “We’ve got nothing to offer you.”

Actually, a conveniently-placed building in the middle of the woods that forced people to forget about its very existence  _ did _ offer her something. If she remained hidden within the confines of the building, even if Ludwig von Aegir’s men were to find her, they would not be able to recall her location. It was the perfect spot to camp out while Ferdinand and Edelgard formulated a plan to free her of a loveless marriage… should these living objects allow her to stay, that was. She had arrived not minutes ago, and this teddy was already trying to make her leave! 

She cleared her throat. “There is something I wish to ask of you—”

“—Director? Is someone here?”

All occupants of the entrance hall whipped around to face the corridor, where a tall, looming figure stood gazing at the group. It was a beastly woman with the head of a wolf, covered from head to toe in a layer of auburn fur. She wore a gorgeous red gown that showed off plenty of fur, including the swell of her ample chest. A silver corset kept the dress hugged to her still curvaeous figure, and given the beast’s size, Petra had to wonder if she was at all comfortable. Brown locks of human hair tumbled from her head, curling over her pointed ears decorated with fancy earrings and her ram-like horns. The huntress nearly drew her dagger out of pure instinct, but one look in those familiar emerald eyes told her that the monster before her had no intentions of hurting her. In fact, within that beautiful gaze, Petra could see a swirl of deep, heavy sorrow. 

It took a moment to register what she was looking at, or rather,  _ who. _

“Dorothea Arnault?” Petra asked, memories fluttering back to the only time she had seen her prior. Most would perhaps forget the face of a woman they had only met once, but Dorothea was not a forgettable woman. For the entirety of that night, Petra had been transfixed upon her, mouth agape in awe as she drank in how  _ stunning  _ she was. Many men had fallen for the elusive songstress, and some were even willing to fight tooth and nail just for Dorothea to merely glimpse at them. During the performance, she had hoped dearly to meet with her after the show, just to let her know how enthralled she had been, how much she had adored every scene the woman was on stage for. However, as expected, a never-ending wave of amorous men had dashed any chances of the two meeting. “You  _ are  _ Dorothea, yes?”

The wolf woman’s green eyes lit up with curiosity. “Yes, that’s me,” she confirmed. “I look a bit different now, but… I’m still me.”

Starstruck, Petra stepped right past the teddy bear and the sword. All the repressed memories of that night washed over her like a mighty tidal wave, and her eyes sparkled with glee. 

“I have seen you upon the stage! It was only once, but I am remembering it well now,” she gushed. “You were so beautiful, and your voice was as wonderful as the spirits themselves! I was wishing to meet with you, but… you were quite busy.”

Dorothea looked taken aback by the enthusiasm, furred ears twitching. “You have? Well, I’m glad you recognize me. Sadly, all that’s gone now,” she half-laughed, voice laden with misery as her giant hands splayed outward to gesture at her new figure. “Still, though. It’s always nice to meet fans.”

The joyous look upon Petra’s face melted away into a frown when she picked up upon the wolfish woman’s tone, the way her once exuberant eyes now looked exhausted and lifeless. It was apparent that whatever curse had been placed upon her had driven her to the brink of depression, and it was plain to see why. Petra couldn’t even fathom how to comfort her, so she continued to talk. 

“The opera I saw… it was being called  _ The Princess of Faerghus _ . Even though many are knowing the tale, I was not knowing what was going to happen. We do not have that story in Brigid.” Her eyes brimmed over with nostalgia as she spoke, and their gazes locked together. “I was really thinking that you, the princess, were to be dying in the arms of your lover… but, when the priestess came in with her magic, I cried tears of joy!” 

Despite the depths of her pain, Petra’s words somehow managed to crack a small, toothy grin upon Dorothea’s face. “Oh yeah? I suppose they wouldn’t have that tale in Brigid, now would they?” she remarked. “I’m glad you liked it. Playing the part of a princess was plenty of fun.”

Petra recalled the young Dorothea, standing front and center upon the stage in a dark blue gown with gemstones that gleamed all the colors of the rainbow in the stage lights. She had truly looked like a real Fódlan princess, so much so that she had been surprised when Ferdinand told her that the songstress was a simple commoner whose origins were unbeknownst to him. “Yes! I would do anything to be seeing that again…”

From behind her, the impatient teddy cleared his throat in interruption. “Unfortunately, you won’t be seeing it again. We’re closed! Gone! Done for! Now then, if you don’t have any other business here, you may as well leave. We are busy people, yes, yes, we have no time to deal with idle curiosity! Now then, go on! Scram!” He tried to shove at her ankles, which went about as well as one would expect a teddy could manage.

“Please be waiting!” Petra shouted, feeling her heart race in her chest.. “I… actually have something to be asking of you, Dorothea.”

Dorothea’s head tilted to the side. “Oh? Of me?” Curiosity lit in her gaze..

To that, the princess nodded. “Yes. Not just you, but… all of you. The truth is, I am being in a terrible situation right now, and I am needing…  _ need _ help.”

The teddy bear’s ‘eyebrows’ narrowed. “Surely you realize there is nothing we can do to help?” he pointed out incredulously. “We are a bunch of inanimate objects and a beast, stranded in the middle of a forest! Our curse will not let us leave, and we have no way of asking for help when everyone just forgets about us the moment they leave!!”

“You are wrong,” Petra interjected. “There is something… something only you can be doing for me.”

Dorothea sighed at the aggressive director. “Oh come on, director, stop being so fussy.” She looked back at Petra apologetically. "He’s not usually like this, not really. Now, what is it that you think I can help with?”

Petra’s cheeks flushed an embarrassed red when she realized she had never actually introduced herself. She stood a little straighter and placed a hand over her heart before bowing. 

“I am being called Petra Macneary, and I am the princess of Brigid,” she declared proudly. “After the war between Brigid and Fódlan, I was kidnapped by the Empire, and forced to be living here. It has been ten years since then, and Duke von Aegir is… he is wanting me to surrender Brigid to him. He is forcing me to be marrying his son, so that when my grandfather, the king of Brigid, dies, I will be nothing but a powerless queen. I was supposed to be marrying him today, but instead, I…”

“...You ran away,” Dorothea finished, eyes full with sympathy, as though she understood perfectly what the princess was going through. A soft expression lingered upon her features, her lips curled gently downwards. 

“Yes,” Petra confirmed. “But Duke von Aegir has many soldiers everywhere, and they will be looking for me. I am needing a place to hide from him. I… do not wish to be giving Brigid to him. He is an evil man who is hateful of our people, of our culture. For many years, he was keeping me locked in a single room, and not allowing me to pray to the spirits. If he is ruling Brigid, then… he will be destroying it.” She gulped. “Your opera house… it is a perfect place for me to be hiding. If the soldiers of the Empire are finding me, they will not remember that I am here.”

The director mulled over the princess’s predicament with his stitched mouth curved in a less than amused frown. “Duke von Aegir, you say? That sounds just like him, that stuck-up scumbag. But if he finds out that we’re hiding his prisoner, then…”

“Then what? We’ll chase him off, that’s what,” Dorothea finished confidently, hands planted firmly upon her hips. “I’d say I’ve become a bit of an expert at the art of intimidation!”

Petra’s heart skipped a beat. “So, you are agreeing to help me?” she asked, voice brimming with hope.

“Of course! I’d love to help you… Petra, was it? Oh! I can’t believe it. An actual princess!” Dorothea marveled, giddy with excitement. Her dark, puffy tail that poked out of the back of her dress began to swish. “I’ll show you around.” Dorothea stuck out her hand as if to offer it to the princess, but quickly drew it back and shoved it behind her back when she realized what she had done, averting her gaze. 

“Anyways! There’s a lot of space here. All the beds aren’t being used anymore, well, except mine. The bedrooms are still occupied, but… oh, we’ll figure something out!”

Petra giggled, cheeks flushing a soft pink. “Please, do not be calling me princess! You are making my cheeks blush,” she insisted, listening to her swiftly beating heart. Even if Dorothea had changed from the beauty she had used to be, the huntress cared not. Meeting her, even in the form of a beast, made her heart leap for joy. 

Still, she had to ponder why the beastly woman had jerked her hand back like that. A sign of insecurity, perhaps…? Regardless, the princess smiled warmly. “I think I will be liking it here. You are having my gratitude, Dorothea! I will be sleeping wherever it is most convenient.”

The director huffed with annoyance, seemingly cross that the decision had been made without any of his input. “Well, whatever. But she is yours to deal with, Dorothea,” he informed the beast. “I am  _ not _ getting involved in any business regarding the prime minister! And if she gets in the way of our curse being broken, she must leave at once!”

Dorothea waved her hand dismissively. “Oh come on, Director, how would she get in the way of that?!” she argued back, though her voice was lighthearted. “Just ignore him, Petra! You have no idea how happy I am to have someone else here!” 

Petra grinned. “And it gives me great joy to be here! I am looking forward to our time together, Dorothea.”

Living in a strange opera house surrounded by living objects and a giant, beastly wolf woman… Well, it was certainly far more exciting than the prospect of marrying a man, Petra thought to herself. She was going to enjoy her time here at the Mittelfrank Opera Company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, the two fated lovers meet! i know a lot of people were waiting for this. of course, it's just the very beginning of their relationship. how will it evolve...? tune in next time to find out...!
> 
> ...except it WILL take a while, because while i DO have the chapter finished (but not edited), im taking a hiatus on my currently running fanfictions so i can work on my Doropetra day project. i know i said i would finish a chapter of Love and the Ocean's Breeze this week, but with the whole coronavirus thing and everything else, i ended up having to spend most of my week filling in at work and i wasn't able to get around to it. i hope you guys can hold out a little while longer. i hope what i conjure up for Doropetra week will be worth the wait.
> 
> speaking of Doropetra week, it's in fifteen days, almost two weeks from now. you can [check out our twitter](https://twitter.com/DoroPetraWeek) to find out what our prompts for this year are, as well as the submission guidelines. i'm hoping that we can get as many people as possible to participate. if you cannot write or draw for this event, then just reading and interacting with our creations is good enough! 
> 
> annnd here's one last reminder that you can get updates on my projects [on my twitter.](https://twitter.com/brigidspride) finally, please leave a kudo and please do comment if you liked this chapter! it really, really helps more than you can imagine.


	4. Spellbound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. Please enjoy!

Innumerable trees that scraped the pitch-black skies above surrounded Dorothea on all sides, trapping her in a prison of darkness as far as the eye could see. A sinister cackle resounded in the distance, forcing an unpleasant shiver to run down her spine. Her human skin itched terribly, as though a thousand bugs crawled all over her flesh, gnawing their way underneath. Fingernails painted a bright red scratched fervently at the phantom source, but found no relief. From within the forest’s thicket shone bright blue eyes, brimming with malice as they locked onto the woman in front of them, showing off a jagged yellow grin. She knew that face. It haunted her every day, reminded her of the punishment she had not deserved.

“You are no human, beast,” a masculine voice laughed. “Not even here.”

The persistent itching grew ever stronger, and Dorothea’s nails continued their rapid attempt at alleviating her condition. A sharp, stabbing pain from her forearm forced the young woman to screech out as her eyes darted downwards. Embedded within her skin were hundreds of thorns, drawing crimson red blood to the forest’s floor. A whimper sounded from the back of her throat as she could do nothing but watch as her blood poured down, trailing into a thick river of scarlet that seeped towards the hungry trees. A tear slipped down from her cheek, and under her breath, she begged for the pain to stop. She didn’t deserve any of this! Her hands began to tremble as her bones cracked, fingernails twisting into horrid beastly claws. Brown fur began to sprout from the wounds upon her skin, spreading like a fire raging through ruins. She screamed at the top of her lungs. 

“What a disgusting beast!” laughed a new shrill voice from behind her, its owner hidden by the forest’s growth. 

“How revolting!” a young man’s haughty voice spat out. “To think I ever thought of you as beautiful…!”

“No…” whimpered Dorothea, watching as the last bits of her skin was claimed by the thicket of fur. Her humanity was rapidly slipping away, her beauty withering like an old rose. “No… please! I don’t want to be a monster anymore!” 

“Oh, Dorothea,” laughed the twisted mage. “No matter what, you will always be a beast.”

“No… please…. No….!” cried the rapidly changing woman, forced to fall to her knees as her bones reformed themselves. Her giant paws attempted to cover her pointy ears to drown out the mixture of laughter and scoffs of disgust echoing all around her. All she could do was wail as her human body ripped itself apart, giving way to her new, beastly self.

Then, she woke.

Dorothea gasped as she flung up in her bed, green eyes wide as her heart pounded up a storm. Claws slowly trailed down the side of her face, feeling the soft fur that still coated her. Her gaze flickered to the mirror upon her vanity, catching a glimpse at the creature in the reflection.  _ Still my normal self _ , she thought, and then chastised herself. How long ago had she started to look in the mirror and think of the beast that stared back as her normal self? These days, she even struggled to recall what she had looked like as a human. She only got glimpses of her former self in her nightmares, when she was forced to relive her transformation in new ways over and over again. Her fingers tightly gripped the bed sheets beneath her, enduring the aftermath of her horrid nightmare. Even though it was nothing but a dream, she still swore she felt the pain every single time. 

She took a deep breath in, attempting to calm her still-frantic heart. Today was going to be different from the monotony of pointless rehearsals and hours spent wallowing alone in sorrow, for no longer was the Mittelfrank Opera House void of guests. The corners of her mouth turned into a small smile as she recalled the events of yesterday afternoon. Within the very halls of her odd home was an actual princess…!

Petra Macneary, princess of Brigid. She looked every way perfect for her title, from the majestic burgundy hair tied in expert braids flowing down her back to the intricate articles of clothing she adorned herself in. Oh how she felt for the poor woman. She knew all too well about how disgusting and corrupt the nobles of the Empire were, but to think that Ludwig von Aegir was greedy enough to try to snatch Brigid away from the princess and claim it as his own… Well, after hearing about Petra’s plight, how could she refuse to help? The opera house had become the perfect fortress for hiding. At least the wretched curse could be useful to someone.

The beast gulped as she stood, eyes lingering upon the encased rose. One, two, three, four petals yet still remained. It would not be long before there was nothing left but thorns. She could feel the cold steel of fate’s knife resting upon her throat, ready to strike. She hoped that she had at least enough time left to protect Petra from the Empire’s schemes. 

Dorothea rid herself of her nightgowns and pulled the crimson opera gown upon her once more. It was breakfast time, and Petra had told her that she would wait for her in the makeshift dining room when she woke. She couldn’t keep the princess waiting.

The songstress made her way down the corridors of the cursed house until she came to the dining room’s door. Sitting within the decorated room was Petra Macneary, fiddling with her bowstring. She quickly sat up in her wooden chair and met Dorothea’s gaze with a soft smile. 

“Good morning, Dorothea!” she greeted cheerily, not at all perturbed by the sight of the beastly woman. The princess did not even flinch as the other woman approached, her claw-like toenails scraping against the wooden floor. 

“Good morning, Petra,” Dorothea replied. She took the seat opposite of the princess, the chair creaking underneath her. It was not built to handle the body of a wolf-like woman, but its sturdy legs had yet to give out, even after all years of use. Two empty tea cups sat upon the frilly white tablecloth, with no sign of the teapot. Anabel never did like being used as a teapot, often complaining that Dorothea’s beastly hands would surely drop her. Not that it mattered, as many of the tea leaves had long ago lost their flavor. “I’m sorry about our breakfast options. It’s not like we have any way of getting much food, and well… until now, I’ve been the only person capable of eating in the first place.”

Petra shrugged it off. “It is not an issue,” she assured. “The dried meat you gave me yesterday is being enough for now. Though, I am wondering… is it you who did the hunting?”

Dorothea nodded. “Ah, yes, actually,” she answered. “I mean, I’m really no good at it. I’ve never been able to use a bow and arrow, so my methods are… pretty sloppy.” She was not proud of her hunting escapades, not in the slightest. She hated the sounds of animals dying underneath her claws and fangs, the sickening taste of blood flooding her jaws. It was much better whenever she could manage to grab a fish from out of the water, but even after five years, the creatures proved far too evasive. For that reason, she tried to preserve and ration out her meals as thin as possible. 

“I have understanding. Fódlan has much farmland to be growing crops, but Brigid is full of forests. It is important for every child of Brigid to be knowing how to hunt,” explained Petra, eyes shining with nostalgia as she spoke of her homeland. “My father taught me to be using a bow and arrow when I was a small child. I have been hunting ever since.”

Her father… Dorothea’s jaws clenched. Everyone knew what had happened to the former prince of Brigid, who had led his warriors into battle against the Empire. He had been killed in battle, his head severed from his body. That had been ten years ago, and Petra appeared to be just a bit younger than she was. To go through the pain of losing a parent at such a young age… it was a feeling that the songstress knew all too well. Her own mother had been cruelly taken from her by the hands of illness, leaving her scared and alone and forced to fend for herself in an unforgiving city run by nobles who could not be bothered to care about another terrified orphan. She thought about expressing her sympathies to the other woman, but stopped herself. There was no need for any of that now, when they were simply sharing casual conversation over the table.

“You must be a pretty good hunter,” Dorothea chose to say instead. “Maybe you can show me a few tricks sometime?”

Petra’s eyes lit up. “Would you be liking that?” she asked. “I could be showing you today, if you are wanting!”

“Today?” repeated Dorothea. Well, it wasn’t like there was much else to do. The director had called off rehearsal indefinitely last evening, muttering something about how bored of it all he was. “The only problem is… well, I don’t know what will happen if you leave the opera house. I mean, who knows how long it takes for you to forget about this place?”

The huntress pondered the issue momentarily. “If you are staying by my side, I do not think it will be an issue,” she told her. “How can I be forgetting what is right next to me?”

True enough. It was worth the experiment, anyhow. “All right, then! Hunting it is.”

After a few more minutes of idle chatter, the princess and the beast made for the entrance hall. Warm, summer air greeted them as they exited the building, alongside the chirping of early morning birds. Dorothea felt a twinge of jealousy as she watched the carefree sparrows flutter amongst the treetops. If only she, too, could be so free. The light breeze brushed through Petra’s hair, the princess closing her eyes and basking in the touch of nature. Dorothea felt her heart skip a beat at the sight, her fangs pulling back her curled lip. Petra had barely been kissed by the sun’s early rays, but she already looked blindly stunning. Indeed, she was most befitting of the title of princess. She was absolutely everything Dorothea had ever dreamt a real princess was like.

“Let us be going,” Petra told her.

Dorothea promptly nodded, and made for the woods. She curled her hands into fists, claws very nearly digging into the palms of her hand. They ventured into the depths of the trees, until they came to the calm spring. Its clear water glistened in the light of the morning sun, revealing a school of tiny fish flourishing under the surface. They were too small to make for a good meal, and certainly swift enough to evade Dorothea’s claws. 

“There’s usually plenty of fish here, but not today, I guess,” sighed the beastly woman. 

“It is fine. Animals are needing to drink from the water. If we are waiting with patience, they will be arriving shortly,” Petra instructed her. “Be hiding your presence amongst the trees, and quiet your breathing. The prey will come to us.”

Easier said than done, Dorothea thought to herself as she ducked underneath a thicket of brambles. A giant, wolfish beast like her stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the vast nature, and it was considerably difficult to stuff her tall body in a narrow space. She grimaced as thorns dug into her fur, her mind flashing back to last night’s macabre nightmare. A heavy breath hitched within her throat, and when she exhaled, an unpleasant, animalistic growl seeped from her lips. She quickly attempted to mute herself by shoving her hand over her mouth, cheeks flaring with embarrassment. 

“Sorry,” she whispered softly, voice muffled by her fingers. 

Petra, who had squeezed herself underneath the same thicket, shook her head. “You do not need to be giving me your apology…” she assured, a worried frown adorning her features. “I was not thinking—oh!” 

From the opposite end of the spring, Dorothea overheard the snap of a twig. Her pointed ears perked upwards in alert. Hunting could be a tedious task, but she had not been expecting prey to wander by so very soon. A plump pheasant clucked as it approached the pond, long neck bending to sip at the surface. She watched as it ruffled its colorful feathers, browns and golden yellows glittering in the morning light, blissfully unaware of the presence of two predators. Dorothea remained as still as a statue, fearful that one little twitch of her body would alert the bird. She did not even allow her tail to sway. 

Petra silently retrieved an arrow from her quiver, eyes never once leaving her prey. She nocked the arrow without making even the slightest of noises, and drew back upon the bowstring. Dorothea watched in wonder as the princess’s unblinking eyes focused her weapon upon the creature’s neck, going for a killing blow. She steadied her breathing, made sure to exhale and hold her breathless lungs before she allowed the arrow to fire from her bow. 

The arrow shot through the air faster than the pheasant could react. Within a split second, it was embedded into the creature’s neck, forcing out a shrill cry from the startled bird. Its wings spread apart and waved frantically as it attempted to take to the sky, but it only managed to hover off the ground for a split second before crashing back down to the cold forest’s floor. 

Petra darted from the trees and knelt before her victim. She retrieved her hunting dagger from her waist and immediately plunged it into the struggling animal’s neck, ending its life before it could suffer any longer. Dorothea winced, unable to rid herself of the guilt of taking a life, even if she played no part. She could never get used to killing, but to Petra, it was second nature by now. Did she feel sorrow for her hunts, or nothing at all?

The answer came sooner than she had expected. The huntress grasped her hands together and shut her eyes, whispering out melodic words in an unfamiliar language. She was praying fervently for the departed spirit. The wolfish woman quietly observed the act of remorse, and though she was in no way religious, she felt a bit eased.

Once Petra had finished, she gestured for Dorothea to join her. The beastly woman slipped free of her hiding space, tangles of vines and sta leaves yet still clinging to her. She sat beside Petra, eyes flickering up and down their successful hunt.

“In Brigid, after we take the life of an animal, we pray to the spirits. We give thanks to the animal for its life, and we are wishing it a safe passage to its next one,” Petra explained. “The spirits will be guiding this pheasant to its new life.”

“Its new life, huh?” Dorothea repeated, not straying her gaze from the departed animal. “That’s a nice thought.” Death had frequently been on the mind of the beast, who felt as though she was chained within her own casket, waiting for the Goddess or whoever to claim her. She often wondered if she would be granted the decency to return to her human form in whatever awaited her after death, but she hadn’t dared ponder reincarnation. Maybe, if she was reborn, she would be a far more fortunate woman than the one she was now.

Petra nodded with a soft smile. “Every being is having many lives. When one is ending, they will be taken to the next one,” she elaborated further. “Though each of their lives are very different, there are some similarities.”

The Brigid princess had caught Dorothea’s interest. “Oh? Go on. I’d love to hear more,” she encouraged.

“There are many examples, but… there are many stories about soulmates in Brigid,” Petra continued on, and though her lips were curved upwards, Dorothea could see a sorrowful spark of longing for her homeland within her dusty pink eyes. “We are having legends about how each soul is having a connection to another soul. In each life, they will always be meeting with one another, and falling in love.”

Dorothea scratched her cheek, a faint memory surfacing. Manuela had told her about that once, only a few days after the curse had been set, in order to ease her anxieties. “How very romantic,” she sighed softly, whistling at the thought. “I wish I had a soulmate. Would have made my life a lot easier.” 

Petra’s expression twisted into a frown as she cocked her head to the side. “How are you knowing that?” she asked. “It is having possibility that you have not met the mate of your soul yet.”

Dorothea laughed a bitter, brief laugh and shrugged. “Maybe,” she replied, though she was still unconvinced. “If I do have a soulmate, I hope they’ll show up before it’s too late.”

Petra looked puzzled. “What are you meaning?”

“Ah, well… I suppose I never did tell you about why I have this curse, but… Maybe we could do that over some breakfast. I’m a bit peckish right now, and I’d hate for that pheasant to go to waste,” Dorothea decided.

“I would not be liking that at all,” Petra agreed. “Is there any firewood at the opera company? I can be showing you how I like to roast my hunts.”

“There is. Let’s go get some.”

It did not take long for the strange duo of princess and beast to retrieve the firewood from the parlor and haul it back outside, a task made significantly easier by Dorothea’s monstrous strength. Petra piled the firewood into a heap and set up the necessary tools, while Dorothea wiggled her fingers and let sparks of magical flames kindle between her claws. It had been a long while since she had utilized her magic, but the tiny crackles of embers came naturally to her. With a flick of her hand, the newly-formed fireball hurled towards the wood pile and ignited it with a burst of smoke.

“Perfection!” Petra declared, admiring their handiwork with a proud grin. “I will be preparing this pheasant for roasting.”

Dorothea plopped herself down upon the short blades of grass, light with specks of morning dew. The slight wetness tickled her fur, causing a slight irritance. Petra, meanwhile, looked completely undisturbed as she sat opposite Dorothea and began to pluck the feathers from the bird’s corpse. 

“I suppose you have a lot of questions,” uttered the beastly woman, twirling a strand of hair around an overgrown claw. “I don’t know how much the director told you when you arrived.”

“Just that you have been given a curse, and that curse has transformed you and the others,” Petra recounted, fingers working nimbly at the carcass. “That it has transported you to the forest, and that it has erased the Opera company from the memory of everyone. I am not knowing why you have this curse, or who was casting it.”

Why indeed? Dorothea still wondered about that herself. Why had that warlock barged into her room and turned her into such a beast? Was it truly because he had rejected her advances, or was he just some sick, twisted man who wanted to use her as a test subject for his horrid experiments? Sometimes, she wished that terrible man would show his cowardly face at the opera house, just so that she could ask. “It was… a man. He came into my room, after the very last night of  _ The Princess of Faerghus _ ,” Dorothea began, grimacing as she forced herself to recall what was quite possibly the worst night of her life.

Petra jolted up from her work, eyes alert and wide. “Ah! That was the very same night I was seeing the opera!” she exclaimed. “Ferdinand was telling me it was the last night to be seeing the show, so he asked his father if I could be coming to watch.”

“Ferdinand?! You mean, Ferdinand von Aegir? You know him?” Dorothea questioned, voice raising. Remnants of old angers rose within her throat, and the slightest of growls escaped through her clenched teeth. Of all the horrid nobles that plagued Adrestia, Ferdinand von Aegir was the one she loathed the most. He was stuck-up, thick-headed, and  _ loved _ to boast about his status as the future prime minister. Though they had only spoken a few times after Dorothea’s performances, and the nobleman had done nothing but shower her in a barrage of praises, the songstress knew his true colors. Why, when she was only a street rat, he had seen her bathing in a fountain, and gave her a look of pure  _ disgust _ . The next time they met was after she had ascended to the title of Mythical Songstress, and he was nothing but smiles. He was the kind of noble she hated the most: the kind that despised her origins, and yet was enamored with who she had become—the kind that would surely take one look at her now and turn away in revulsion. 

“Yes,” Petra answered. “When I was a captive in Enbarr, I was not allowed to be leaving my room often, but Ferdinand always wanted to be showing me the opera.”

“Wait, hold on a moment. Petra, you said you’re supposed to be marrying the prime minister’s son, right?” Dorothea suddenly remembered. The pieces of the puzzle were slowly slotting together in the former songstress’s mind, and her eyes lit up with sympathy. “Oh,  _ oh _ . That’s right! Ferdinand’s your fiancé, isn’t he? Oh, I am  _ so  _ sorry. Even if it weren’t for your awful situation, I’d still run away if I were supposed to marry him.”

The huntress frowned, confused at Dorothea’s disdainful reaction. “I am not having an issue with Ferdinand. He was always showing me great kindness, even when his father was not. Even so, I do not want to marry him. In Brigid, we are not marrying for… for politics. We are marrying for love, because the spirits have chosen our soul to be bound to another soul,” Petra elaborated further. She had resumed her task of plucking her future breakfast’s feathers, but her eyes remained locked on Dorothea’s. “Even if marrying Ferdinand did not mean surrendering Brigid to the Empire, he is not the mate of my soul. He is also aware of this. It was Ferdinand who helped me escape.”

Dorothea blinked, puzzled by the princess’s words. This version of Ferdinand she spoke of sounded like a far cry from the haughty noble she knew. “I… I see,” was the only response she could find. Spilling out all her disgust for the man onto one of his friends was hardly a fair thing to do. Perhaps she had severely misjudged the man, yet, it was hard to throw away her preconceptions given how terribly the fountain incident had scarred her. She couldn’t simply let her trauma go on the fly. “I wonder, though. How do you think you know when you’ve met your soulmate?”

Petra shrugged, glancing back down at the pheasant’s corpse. “I am not yet knowing. My father told me that it took many moons before he knew my mother was the—erm, his soulmate. They met at the markets of Brigid and became friends, but it was not until the night of one of the festivals that they fell in love. He told me… ah, he told me that he looked in her eyes as they danced, and he felt it in his heart,” she recalled, the corners of her mouth upturned into a small smile. 

Dorothea sighed at the sheer romanticism of the image that floated through her head, of two lovers, dancing underneath the moonlight and gazing deep within each other’s eyes, drunk upon the feeling of love. “That sounds beautiful,” she mused, eyes gazing off into the distance as she dared imagine herself in a similar position: the perfect suitor, taking her by her furred hand as though it was the same as any human’s and leading her into a harmonic tango. How she wished the magic of those romantic tales hadn’t vanished, leaving her only feeling hollow when she flipped through the pages of yet another fantastical opera. It somehow felt different when Petra spoke of her parents, a story that was true and not written by some idealist. It made her remember just how much she craved to be loved by another, curse or no curse. “I wonder if my soulmate’s out there.”

“Ah… you were saying something… strange, earlier. That you are wishing your soulmate comes, before it is ‘too late.’ What were you meaning?” asked Petra.

“Oh, that’s right. I did say that, didn’t I?” Dorothea muttered, wincing. Her tail fidgeted behind her as she mulled over her words. “Well, the man who cursed me… he told me that there’s only one way to break the curse. I… I have to find my true love, my soulmate. Someone who will love me, even when I look like  _ this _ …”

Petra blinked. “So, you are having to find your soulmate… but… there is a ‘catch’—as you are saying in Fódlan—I am thinking,” she commented. 

“Yes. On my vanity, there’s a magical rose. That’s the rose that man tried to give to me on that day, but now, it contains… well, my life. When the last petal on the rose falls, when it dies, so will I… and…” She swallowed hard as she forced herself to think into the certain bleak future that lay ahead of her, of the four petals that yet still flimsily clung to the thorn-ladden stem. “...It’s been five years since then. I haven’t got much time left.”

The princess’s expression fell immediately, eyes dimming. “You are dying,” she stated.

“Yes. I… I’m dying, Petra.” Dorothea bit down on her lip. She had never admitted the fact out loud, and doing so felt like she was carving her dim fate within cold stone. “I realize now that it’s probably pretty inconvenient for you, since I offered to hide you away for as long as you needed it…” She punctuated her lament with a bitter laugh, feeling her chest clench tightly, as though her heart was being constricted. “I guess I don’t know what will happen to this opera house after I die. Maybe it’ll stay here, forgotten, alongside me and everyone else in the company.” It was as though the man who had cursed her knew of her darkest fear: to be forgotten, to have the name Dorothea Arnault completely faded from history, with no one left behind to cherish her memory. What a terrible curse to have.

Petra shook her head defiantly, thin eyebrows slanting. “That will not be happening,” she told her confidently. 

“Huh? How do you even know—”

“How many petals are left upon your rose?”

Dorothea hesitated. “Four, but… I mean, who knows how long it’ll take for them to fall. It took a few weeks for the first one to fall, but the second one came only a few days after that, and the third one took three months—” 

“You still are having—erm, have—plenty of time. You do not know how long four petals will take to fall. It could be a few days, or years,” Petra pointed out, meeting Dorothea’s uncertain gaze with her cool, unwavering look. “In Brigid, we are having a legend. In each life, even if the mate of your soul dies before you, you will always be meeting them at least once. Your... ah, soulmate, may still come.”

Hearing Petra’s words, so sure, so certain, made Dorothea twinge with jealousy. She wished she could believe in something so strongly, but her faith had always been weak: in the goddess, in her destiny, in  _ herself _ . Perhaps one day—if she somehow managed to survive her curse—she could find something to believe in wholeheartedly, like Petra did the spirits of her homeland.

“Thank you, Petra,” she replied, her smile full of pearly-white fangs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You are welcome!”

Finally, the pheasant was plucked cleanly and gutted, ready to be roasted. Dorothea watched transfixed as Petra affixed the meat upon the spit, feeling her stomach growl in response. All the while, however, she couldn’t chase the worries out of her mind. If the legends of Brigid were really true, then it was still possible that she had already met her soulmate, just for one fleeting moment in the crowd that swarmed the opera house every night after a successful show. She did not mention that to the other woman, who was humming in delight as she worked diligently to cook their breakfast just right. There were far too many uncertainties, and when she was teetering on the edge of death, Dorothea could do nothing but drown in worries.

She would have to set aside that feeling of nausea threatening her stomach if she wanted to enjoy her first fresh meal in weeks.

* * *

Dorothea clutched the pitch-black steel rails of the balcony as she watched the sun melt into the orange sky, bringing with it the songs of the evening birds. Her tail swayed slightly to each chirp as she hummed to their melody under her breath. On a normal evening, she would be upon the stage, dancing to the sound of her own voice. Her ears twitched as the unlocked glass-paned window behind her creaked open wider. As a general rule, she kept each door open just a crack so that those without arms or strength could easily maneuver around their prison. For Manuela, however, it wasn’t so difficult.

The doll’s light footsteps carried her to Dorothea’s side, her long light brown hair catching in the wind. “There you are, dear,” Manuela spoke, “I’ve been looking for you, you know.”

“Sorry,” apologized Dorothea halfheartedly, though her eyes did not stray from the distance. 

Manuela sighed at the sorry state of her former student. “The director told me to tell you that practice is canceled again tonight. And tomorrow morning,” she informed her.

“Of course,” responded the beastly woman, voice emotionless. The grip of depression had claimed hold of her, and she could not be bothered to care much about the revelation. “Everyone’s lost morale. Not surprising, really.”

“Ugh, tell me about it,” groaned Manuela. “As much as I missed being on the stage, acting and singing as a doll just isn’t the same. And don’t get me started about the lack of drinks. I’ve almost forgotten the taste of alcohol! Can you believe it!? Five whole years I’ve been single and sober. Who would have thought!” She laughed at the sheer absurdity, but it was not contagious, for Dorothea did not react to her jokes. “Well, I guess the part about me being single isn’t all that surprising. Anyways, enough of all that depressing nonsense. You didn’t tell me we had a guest!”

Oh, that was right. She had completely forgotten to inform Manuela of Petra’s presence. “Oh, yes, I’m sorry. Must have slipped my mind completely. Have you gotten to speak with her?” Dorothea asked, finally snapping her gaze away from the sunset to the tiny doll at her feet.

“I haven’t! One of the guards told me all the details. An actual real princess! I thought he was joking, but no, he really meant it!” she enthused. “I’ve been on dates with men from Brigid before. They’re so strong and handsome, so very,  _ very _ dreamy. I can only imagine how stunning their princess is.”

Dorothea’s eyes flashed wide open as she recalled the sight of the Brigid Princess in the morning sun, the rays shining down upon her bare skin, illuminating the hints of strong muscle in her well-trained arms and shoulders. She had looked like a natural beauty amongst the forest’s growth, confidently wielding her bow. Not to mention her simply glowing locks of beautiful, intricately braided burgundy hair. She had never seen braids quite like those before. Her throat felt dry, all of a sudden. 

“She’s very beautiful,” Dorothea replied, a hint of sorrow in her tone. “And very kind, too. She’s really the perfect image of a princess. She didn’t even flinch when she saw me!” It was such a far cry from her usual visitors, who often were in the opera house for mere minutes before dashing out in a panic. It had only been for a day, but having someone else around was already a nice change of pace, especially someone as wonderful as Petra. “I wonder if I was ever that beautiful… certainly not anymore.” She no longer knew if the stories of her former beauty matched the reality of what she had looked like, for she could no longer remember her human face.

“This again, Dorothea? I thought you promised me not to say such things about yourself!” Manuela replied sharply, her eyebrows narrowing. “Come now, Dorothea! You’re a gorgeous young lady. 

“I know you say that, but—it’s just, it’s hard to think when I’m so close to dying.” Dorothea pried her hands away from the steel bars and shook her head. “I just… oh, what do I do now, Manuela? There must be  _ something!  _ I’m tired of just waiting.”

Manuela contemplated the limited options. “Hm. Well, dear, you’ve still got a gorgeous voice. Why don’t we do a bit of practice on our own? If we’re lucky, maybe someone will overhear you singing and fall just  _ madly _ in love with you!” she conspired. 

Her voice had always been one of her greatest assets, but the curse had thrown a wrench in her ability to sing. High notes had become much harder to hit after her transformation, but five years of practice had smoothed it out. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea to hope that someone would fall in love with her voice, just as many had done so many years ago.

“You know what, Manuela? Why not!” Dorothea stepped away from the balcony and turned, a newfound spark within her eyes. “I’m not sure if anyone would be too pleased with how I look, but maybe, just maybe… if I can lure someone in with my voice, let them get to know me…”

“Exactly!” shouted Manuela with excitement. “Come on now, big girl, why don’t we go on over to the stage? I bet I can fish up some new tunes from backstage!”

“Sounds like a plan!”

* * *

Petra couldn’t sleep.

Despite her exhaustion from all the strange new things that had happened over the course of the last twenty-four hours, she could not keep her eyes closed for long. She shifted underneath the unfamiliar sheets, flipping from side to side in hopes that she would find one more comfortable than the other. The bed that she had been loaned wasn’t anything spectacular, but it certainly beat whatever Duke von Aegir had carelessly chosen for her so-called room. 

Her new room at the opera company was much larger than her cell had been, though it wasn’t particularly well decorated. Her bed sat in a mostly empty corner of the room, while the other side was crowded with empty bookshelves. A vanity was tucked into the adjacent corner alongside a plush chair pushed partially underneath. It was clear that this room hadn’t served any real purpose for a while, which was hardly surprising given the circumstances. Still, Petra found herself enjoying the calm silence of the empty room, as opposed to the echoes of bustle she would overhear while situated at the castle. 

She turned on her side once again. It seemed as though sleep was simply impossible for now. The opera house was gigantic, and she had only seen a handful of rooms from Dorothea’s tour last night, including one chock full of books and opera scripts. Over lunch at the Imperial castle, Ferdinand often blabbered to her about his favorite operas, and while they had always piqued her interest, she had never gotten to actually see any besides the  _ Princess of Faerghus _ . Perhaps Dorothea would allow her to look through their collection. 

Mind made up, the princess flopped out of bed. She didn’t know where to even begin looking for Dorothea around this time, but her bedroom would likely be a good start. Petra exited her room and slipped into the narrow hallway. Its walls were painted a darker red, decorated with intricately painted portraits of former opera troupe members framed in gold. Despite the number of rooms within, it was completely lifeless. 

Petra made her way down the hallway, and halted when she came to Dorothea’s door. Her room had a wooden sign hung from a nail displaying her name, alongside her title:  _ The Mythical Songstress _ , carved in fancy cursive. She curled her hand into fist and brought her knuckles to the door to knock, only to stop when her well-trained ears picked up on a faint but familiar voice coming from the front of the opera house. She stepped back from the door and hesitated. Was Dorothea elsewhere?

The huntress abandoned her idea and instead briskly walked towards the voice, which led her to the entrance. The fancy room was completely empty, but it did not take long for Petra to deduce where the voice was coming from: the stage itself. The grand, masterfully carved wooden doors were peeked open, and from the other side, an absolutely  _ beautiful _ voice was singing out. Petra’s jaw went slack as the memory of the night at the Mittelfrank Opera House from five years ago blazed back into her brain, just as clear as the bright morning sky. Her legs moved automatically towards the door, and without another thought, she slipped into the theatre.

It was strange, seeing it so empty, when the last time it had been full to the brim with hundreds upon hundreds of eager nobles. Though the room itself was almost completely dim, with none of the usual candelabra upon the walls lit, a shimmering chandelier glistened down upon the stage itself. Petra’s eyes were immediately drawn to the distant figure standing directly within the light’s center. 

Dorothea.

She wore the same red ball gown, and yet, it looked so very different underneath the light of the stage, with the gemstones embedded upon the hem of glittering all the colors of the rainbow. The warm glow brought out the color in Dorothea’s striking auburn fur, accentuated the warm browns in her mane. Each graceful movement she made as she danced her way across the stage caused her dress to sway and her perfectly-combed chestnut hair to flutter behind her like the wings of a butterfly. She held her head high, a furred hand pressed firmly to her chest, as she sang out clearly to all corners of the theatre, hitting each note no matter how high with sheer perfection. Her movements were slow, refined, as though every step she took was mapped out and carefully considered. It was unlike the ferocity of Brigid dancers, who moved erratically and spontaneously to the rhythm of their lively music. Petra briefly wondered what Dorothea would look like dancing to the songs of her homeland.

Even though her body had changed, even though her voice was a tad bit gruffer than before, she was still the same Dorothea that Petra remembered, dancing so elegantly and singing so magnificently to the sound of her own voice that she was comparable to the spirits themselves. Petra’s heart began to race with rapid beats as if dancing in tandem with Dorothea’s song, her eyes transfixed upon the gorgeous beast who claimed the stage as though she was born to do just that. 

She was completely and utterly enamored.

Petra gulped to ease some of the dryness in her throat, and felt her cheeks burning red hot. The singing beast had yet to notice her presence, too caught up in the fervor of her song. Petra felt as though she was intruding on something private, but it was hard to tear her eyes away from such a sight. But even as the Mythical Songstress pranced upon the stage, so perfectly, so beautifully, Petra couldn’t help but feel like something was missing from the performance. It looked incomplete with the way Dorothea’s arms swung out and grasped at thin air, as though reaching for something invisible. Whatever it could be, Petra did not know. A tinge of sorrow gnawed at her heart, and she drew her bottom lip into her mouth, wishing desperately for a way to free this lonely beast from her misery. If only there was  _ something _ she could do to alleviate her suffering, just for a moment…

For the time being, Petra decided to settle within the darkness of the unlit audience, concealing her presence behind a dusty chair. She would allow herself to enjoy the secret show for just a moment longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I did fail to update LaTOB's with the last prompt chapter, I was really struggling with it and got huge burnout and writer's block that I am slowly, SLOWLY recovering from. This chapter had already been written months ago but I just now got around to edit it. I've been trying to break free of the writer's block by writing a few short prompts and with the help of the Doropetra Discord server. So this is what I have to offer you right now. The next chapter of this has only been half written and I'll definitely try to get to it as soon as possible.
> 
> But please, if you liked this chapter, please leave a kudo, and consider leaving a comment and letting me know what you thought. The yearning is only just beginning...
> 
> By the way, a while back I actually commissioned a piece based on this fanfic. I think it came out BEAUTIFULLY. It depicts a future scene I have already written, so if you wanna get a sneak peak, [take a look at this gorgeous art!](https://twitter.com/honeyviolets/status/1244293410191814657) (and I cannot recommend the artist any higher, if you are looking to get a commission yourself, her work is incredible...)
> 
> I think that's all for now. See you next time I update a fanfic![(and also follow me on twitter, you know the drill)](https://twitter.com/brigidspride)


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